


All Together Now

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: All the boys start out as toddelrs, Family, Foster AU, if you're into Brian being a father figure this is for you, kid AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:45:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanting more in life than going from work, to home, to occasional bars, Brian Epstein becomes a foster parent and has finally been assigned four little boys. It's more of a disaster than he thinks, but he feels any mishap can't deter him from raising them (... eventually). He's determined to give them the love they need and deserve. The five of them manage to survive in their family, facing the difficulties of being orphans and a single father, and finding comfort and support in only each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August, 1955 (I)

**Author's Note:**

> The ages of the boys are as follows:  
> Ringo - 4 years, 1 month; John - 3 years, 10 months; Paul - 2 years, 1 month; George - 1 year, 4 months (16 months)
> 
> Repost from fic fanfiction.net account.

August, 1955

Brian stood in front of the door, fist hovering over the wood, shaking. He wasn't sure of what he was in for - what he gotten himself in to a year ago when he filled out the last of the extensive paperwork. It had felt like such an unconditionally good decision then. He would get to raise, support, and help kids who didn't have a permanent home. There was no downside to it as he filled out application after application, happily agreeing to interviews and visits from the foster agency. Now, he saw the huge drawback; he would be raising, helping, and supporting kids who didn't have a permanent home.

His stomach was tight, and his palms were sweaty. Brian took a deep breath. He recited Mal's words of encouragement from that morning and knocked on the door with feigned confidence.

It took a few moments, but the door finally swung open. An older woman smiled at him. Perhaps being a foster parent had aged her, for her eyes still held youth that her grey hair and wrinkles betrayed. Her hair was in a bun, and her dress was modest. She didn't wear makeup, except for maybe a dab of mascara and possibly powder. While she looked drab at first glance, she actually shined, and Brian could practically feel warmth radiate from her.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, her accent proper, and indicated she was from somewhere other than Liverpool.

"Good afternoon," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Brian Epstein. We've been talking - "

"Of course!" She took his hand in a firm grasp and shook it, which impressed Brian, being a businessman. "Sarah Lison." She stepped aside. "Come in, come in."

Brian stepped in through the threshold. He looked around and noted the cozy, toddler friendly interior. He smiled at the few toys and books that had been left out and felt his heart swell with the possibility of his own home looking similar in a short time. For a moment, his anxiety was crushed with optimism.

"Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?" Sarah asked.

Brian looked up at her. "No, thank you."

Sarah crossed the room to the door leading out of the sitting room.

"I'll go get the boys," she said. "I'll be back in a moment."

Sarah left and Brian took the time to look around the room. He picked up a stuffed dog from the coffee table, turning it over in his hands. It was cute and worn. The stitches looked strained and some even looked like they had been re-sewn. A brief moment of panic took Brian's breath away. He didn't know how to sew that well. What if he needed to hem trousers or sew up a split stuffed animal like the one in his hands? He wouldn't know how to make it look nice. He could do it, certainly, but it wouldn't look nice at all. It would disappoint a child.

Brian sat the dog back on the table and tried forcing himself to have more positive thoughts. His heart returned to its normal rate as he convinced himself it wasn't that big of a deal. It would be only a small glitch in the years of being a foster parent. He could overcome it.

Sarah walked back in the room when Brian finally found peace of mind.

"They'll be in here soon," she said, carrying the tone of a long-suffering woman. "They're nervous about meeting you."

"The feeling is mutual," Brian said.

Sarah took a seat next to him. "They're really sweet boys. You shouldn't feel nervous at all. I'm sure they'll take an instant liking to you."

"Let's hope." Brian could tell that he was radiating nerves and awkward that he had hoped he could curb through the first meeting. He wrung his hands together in his lap, and he tried his best to smile.

Sarah patted his knee, taking sympathy and possibly pity in the man before her. "They haven't met anyone who they haven't loved. Really, they're angels. Once they get to know you, they won't want to be away from you."

"You told me they're all joined at their hips?"

Sarah nodded. "They never leave each other's sides. Sometimes, they curl up in bed together."

A man walked into the room, holding a young toddler, with three others trailing behind him. Sarah and Brian turned to him. He was just as old as Sarah, it looked, with greying hair combed back, and wearing an equally modest suit.

"You'll see what I mean," Sarah said.

One boy immediately went to Sarah and climbed into her lap. He eyed Brian with a look that implied that he was anything but an angel. Brian tried smiling at him, but he turned away.

"This is John," Sarah said brightly.

"Hello, John," Brian said.

John didn't respond. Sarah nudged him. "Say hi, John."

"Hi," John mumbled, glancing to Brian.

Sarah laughed. "He's usually not this shy. John's actually the most outgoing."

"Oh. Well, how old are you, John?" he asked.

John's eyes softened just a touch. "4."

"You're not four," Sarah chided. "You're 3 and 3/4."

"But I'm almost four," he mumbled back.

Sarah turned her attention to the others. Her husband sat on the chair across from them, balancing the smallest boy on his knee, with another squeezed in next to him to stay close to his friend. The oldest of them all hesitantly took a seat next to Sarah, shying away from Brian.

The man leaned over and extended a hand over the boys' heads. Brian had to stretch to grasp it.

"David," he said.

"Brian."

It was the almost curt, but the man's welcoming smile made up for any offense.

"This is George," David said, putting a hand on the small boy's head and then, the other's. "And this is Paul."

Brian nodded at them. "It's very nice to meet you both."

Paul smiled, which prompted George to as well.

"Hi," Paul greeted with the typical high energy of a toddler. His eyes, adorably large and doe-like, were the brightest Brian had ever seen any eyes be. Paul poked George, and said in a loud whisper, "Say hi."

"Hi," George said, smiling shyly.

Brian didn't know that it was possible to feel such warmth swelling in his chest. With new found confidence, he peaked behind Sarah.

"And who is this?" he asked.

The boy's eyes grew large and he reached for Sarah's sleeve. She pulled it away gently and put her arm around him, allowing him to peak out around her waist.

"Let's see," Brian said, recalling the names he had read previously on several letters. "I've met John and Paul and George... so you must be Richard."

Sarah smiled. The boy nodded sheepishly.

"You can call him Ritchie."

"Well, hello, Ritchie." Brian held out his hand. "I'm Brian."

Ritchie stared at the hand.

"Shake it," John encouraged.

When Ritchie didn't seem to be close to following the advice, John grabbed Ritchie's hand and put it in Brian's. It wasn't the sturdiest of handshakes, but it did the job.

"You're the oldest, aren't you?" Brian asked.

Ritchie nodded. "I'm four," he said quietly.

Brian pretended to be impressed. "Goodness, you're almost an adult."

Ritchie smiled.

"Do you have a job yet?"

Ritchie giggled and shook his head.

"Do _you_ have a job?" John asked, his voice so loud and question so abrupt it startled Brian.

"Of course," Brian answered as Sarah chided John for not using his indoor voice. "I run a record store."

It seemed to catch all of their enthusiasm.

"How exciting!" Sarah said. "They love music."

"Especially Elvis," David added.

John's eyes lit up at the name.

"That's wonderful," Brian said. "I'm a fan, also. Perhaps I could bring you an album or two sometime in the next month, before…?"

Brian trailed off. He directed a questioning glance to Sarah and David. They both shifted. It was obvious that they were still in the situation that they had explained in the letter - that the boys didn't know they were leaving soon. Brian didn't think it right to not tell them. He even hoped that they would tell them before he came, so he wouldn't have to keep the secret while simultaneously making plans about it. However, he wasn't the current foster parent, and they had their reasons. Sarah and David wanted Brian to become familiar with them before they dropped the bombshell. It was the best way for the boys, Sarah had explained. They had already been through so much.

"That would be amazing," Sarah said, quick to move past Brian's prompting sentence.

"Before what?" John asked.

Brain pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Nothing," Sarah said, stroking John's arm. "It's not important."

"Sarah," David mumbled.

She sighed and gave her husband a sharp look that seemed to say "later".

John looked warily between David and Sarah, then, looked at Brian with the hardest glare a three year old could give. If any of them were suspicious of Brian's intentions of meeting them, it must have been John. Perhaps he had overheard a conversation, or had constantly been on the edge of his seat since being placed in foster care.

Brian's stomach twisted again.

"What other music do you like?" he desperately asked.

John didn't say anything. Ritchie was the one to speak up in his tiny, shy voice.

"We don't know," he said.

Brian laughed. "Surely, you must have some idea of what music you like."

"They listen to the radio and the albums we have around the house," David said. "There's not much variety, and we try to keep them away from that rock and roll stuff. That's what they tend to choose, though. They don't know any better."

"Why not rock?"

"It's no good. Elvis is the only thing of that sort that we allow them to listen to. He's a good boy."

Brian nodded, though he completely disagreed. "I'll see what we have at the shop that's… appropriate."

John's glare had receded. His attention even wavered from Brian to the other boys. As the adults continued to talk, he began making faces that made George giggle and nearly squeal in delight. Paul laughed with him, but also motioned for him to be quiet when his laughs raised above the adults' conversation.

Ritchie finally seemed comfortable, Brian noted during one of the many times his own attention drifted. He enjoyed watching George and Paul laugh, and John making them do so. At one point, Ritchie leaned over and whispered in John's ear. Whatever he suggested made John gasp and nod.

They both hopped down from the couch and waved at Paul and George to do the same. David set George down without any hesitation. After the four of them were on the floor, they were out of everyone else's mind, and slipped out of the room.

"John and Ritchie are starting school soon," Sarah was saying. "I don't think they quite realize just how soon it is."

"They don't need to," David said. "Kids don't understand time. I asked Georgie the other day, 'When did Sarah buy you that toy you're playing with?' And he said 'tomorrow'. They don't even know their own birthdays. They don't care, either."

"It must be so nice," Brian mumbled, contemplating his grueling schedule and weekly deadlines.

"That's the problem," Sarah said. "One morning they'll wake up, John and Ritchie are going to go to school, and George and Paul are going to be alone during the day, probably not knowing what to do with themselves."

"They'll understand," David said, seeming to fight off a smirk. "With time."

"But how will we explain all of this to them? Kids usually start asking about school by their ages."

"They're too care-free," David said. "That's the problem with kids nowadays. They just don't care about their responsibilities. When I was George's age, I was already signing up for the Queen's army."

Sarah rolled her eyes in bemusement. Brain furrowed his eyebrows as he began to figure out the strange sense of humor.

"I was being potty trained in recruit training," David continued. "I kept my nappy pressed and cleaned at all times. Kids today don't appreciate that. All they want to do is play with blocks and learn how to walk instead of climbing ropes in the pouring rain."

"That's remarkable," Brian said with pseudo-seriousness. "I must have been… Ritchie's age before I even considered the service."

The glint in David's eyes changed from humor to admiration. "Where did you serve?"

"Um, London. I was a clerk…. National Service, you know." Brian shrugged.

David nodded. "No service is better than any other. How long were you in?"

Brian's breath caught in his chest. Of course, his military discharge was on the files at the agency, but the exact details were left unknown, and he would give his arm and leg to keep it that way. If David and Sarah were to find out he was "mentally and emotionally unfit" in the way that he was… he would never be able to see the kids again - or any kids, for that matter.

"10 months," he finally said.

"David, stop it," Sarah said, then, turned to Brian. "You don't have to talk about this. I know it can make some people uncomfortable."

Brian nodded gratefully. "We were discussing school? And how the kids don't understand?"

Sarah laughed. "I'm sorry. I worry a bit too much. I think what I'm mostly afraid of is them getting into trouble."

"They seem well behaved," Brian said.

"They are," Sarah said. "I'm just not certain if the change will be good."

"The boys can handle school," David said. "Every other kid in the world has had to handle it."

"Speaking of the boys…," Brian began, looking around the living room. "Where'd they go?"

Everyone turned to where the boys last were; behind Sarah, on the floor. Instead of finding them silently playing, they found nothing. The stuffed dog was gone from the coffee table, along with every other sign of the boys.

David shrugged and pulled out a box of cigarettes. He pulled one out for himself and offered one to Brian, lighting it for him as well. "They run off all the time."

"That's another thing," Sarah said. "What if someone isn't keeping a close enough eye on them and they wander off? It won't be anything like it is now." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm still worried."

They all rose and headed to the threshold of the living room, preparing to walk into the dining room. David took a drag of his cigarette.

"She's been talking about this for weeks," he said to Brian. "She's so concerned about them growing up outside our nest - it's not that we don't believe you're going to be a good foster parent, though. We think you're one of the most qualified people who's applied for foster services lately."

They all stopped when they reached the door. Sarah turned to Brian, her eyes shining with sorrow and sympathy.

"It's just hard for kids to adjust," she said. "Both with starting school and moving."

Brian suddenly became stiff when he realized what Sarah and David had been discussing, while he stayed as oblivious as the boys. "I suppose… they'll have moved in with me already when they start school."

Sarah nodded. David blew out smoke. Brian's cigarette burned slowly in his hand.

"This is a lot sooner than I thought. They'll be with me for a lot, won't they?"

Again, Sarah nodded.

Brian looked down at his cigarette. He wasn't sure if he was anxious or excited, or perhaps both. Nevertheless, he smiled.

"Well, they won't if we don't find them, will they?" Brian laughed.

Sarah pushed open the door. "I doubt they -"

As soon as the three of them had crossed into the dining room, they were knocked speechless.

Ritchie, Paul, and George sat on the floor of the dining room, staring. John stood, one of Paul's hands in his and one of Ritchie's hands clutching his sleeve. George rubbed his eyes with a fist, bottom lip stuck out, and leaning into Paul's side.

They all fought back tears.

"Boys…" Sarah began, but there was no way she could force out an explanation.

Brian's heart hammered in his chest, the sound deafening in the silence. He could feel neither David nor Sarah breathe and the pitiful, betrayed looks of the boys ground holes into his body. No one moved besides the trembles coming from the small bodies.

Ritchie was the first one to break. Silent tears began flowing down his cheeks and soon after, Paul and Georges', too. John was the only one to stay strong, though he obviously struggled. If his apparent anger was not there to overwhelm him, he would have been on the floor with the rest.

"We're leaving?" Paul cried.

Sarah bent down to their height. "Not yet," she said, trying to hold them in her arms. "Not yet, alright? We still have time."

David pushed his cigarette into an ashtray on the table and followed his wife's lead. While Ritchie, Paul, and George all cried in their foster mother's arms, John stood still, glaring at the ground, face red. David put his hands on the small shoulders.

"We just got here," John said, voice cracking, still refusing to look up.

Brian knew that the boys had been living in this home for almost a year already. It should have felt like a lifetime for them. It was a lifetime, practically. George was just a baby when he came. He must have taken his first steps in this house - and maybe Paul, too. First words were spoken, and, of course, the boys had all become brothers as they were placed in the care of Sarah and David one by one.

They had been here for almost their entire lives and John was saying they had just gotten there? It was like David said, time made no sense to kids. Then again, what's a year of settling into a new home when you've barely had one to begin with?

A year was nothing and everything.

Brian took a step forward. John glared up at him and Brian froze mid-step. David looked at him with softness that he didn't think the brass man could posses.

"I should leave," was all Brian choked out.

He stumbled out of the room and house. He dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk as he got into his car, wiping furiously at tears that had began running down his face. How could he be a damn parent? How could he go through that if he couldn't keep the kids? How could he go through that now, when he ripped them away from what they had known as home? He hadn't accounted for all of this. Why wouldn't he? He would account for everything that could go wrong with his business, but not his foster kids? He had never felt like a bigger joke.

When his vision cleared and his hands stop shaking enough to put the key in the ignition, Brian drove away, feeling a part of himself missing, and left behind at the doorstep.


	2. August, 1955 (II)

August, 1955

Music settled in the room like a fog. It felt heavy on Brian, and the notes seemed to rest on his chest. He didn't turn off the radio, though, because it was Elvis, and while the baritone voice surrounded Brian, he was reminded of the reason why he had been listening to Elvis recently. Even a week after he had left the boys, he could still see the joy that crossed their faces when he offered to gift them with an album. He had imagined them listening to it with him, paying as close attention to the music as they could. Their eyes would have lit up when he started it. He would have told them stories about the artist and introduced them to even more.

As each song progressed, he started to remember the sobs that came at the end of the visit. He could hear the shrill cries, and he could see the tears running down red faces. His heart ached in its permanent home in his stomach.

"Eppy?"

Brian lifted his head from his desk. Mal had poked his head in the door to his office, looking at him with the same sympathetic look he had had since Brian came back to NEMS heartbroken.

"Are you doing alright?" he asked.

Brian nodded. Mal smiled.

"Do you want to go out to lunch?"

Brian shook his head and looked down at the papers spread across his desk. "I have things to arrange here."

Mal walked in the room and took a seat across from Brian. "You haven't gone anywhere besides your office and apartment for a week. You need to get over this. It wasn't your fault the kids found out before they were supposed to."

Brian scoffed. "That doesn't make it better. They were so upset, Mal. They don't want to live with me."

"It's not that they don't want to live with _you_." Mal shook his head, as if explaining the simplest answer ever. "They just don't want to leave their home. You're not the problem. They wouldn't want to live with anyone at this point."

Brian allowed his unimpressed expression and raised eyebrow to speak for him. Mal sighed.

"The point I'm trying to make is that you're not the problem. They'll get over it, but only if _you_ get over it and visit them again. You said that they liked you at first, right?"

"Yes."

"Then why wouldn't they warm up to the idea of living with you if you're around enough? If you show up only once or twice before they move in with you, all depressed, then they're _really_ not going to want to live with you. Give them time to adjust."

"You're starting to make sense."

Mal folded his arms across his chest and leaned back with a triumphant smile. "See? Besides, you need to fulfill your bribe of bringing them an album."

"I haven't even decided what to bring them yet."

"Decide over lunch."

Brian smirked. Mal looked hopeful. "Alright."

Mal jumped up and Brian rose to his feet, turning off the radio, and cut off the upbeat music that had begun to play.

* * *

Smoke created a heavy mist above the table and between the two men. Brian took a long drag on his cigarette, feeling his nerves unwind even further as he blew a line of smoke to the ceiling.

"When do you get to see the boys again?" Mal asked.

Brian tapped the ash off the end of cigarette on to his empty plate, too relaxed to reach for the ashtray. "Tomorrow."

Soft music played from a jukebox somewhere in the diner. Teenagers were still in school and so the adults had free reign of the place until mid afternoon. Then, the place would fill with rock music and kids spending their allowance on soda.

"Have you decided on an album yet?"

"I'm not sure what their current foster parents would approve of. I've been thinking about settling on an Elvis single, but I suppose they've heard everything we have in the shop."

"What do you mean 'approve of'?"

Brian gave Mal a pointed look. "No rock 'n' roll."

Mal let out a disgusted huff of breath. "Are you serious?"

"They don't think it's any good - except Elvis."

"Why Elvis?"

Brian shrugged. "But David and Sarah are… traditional. David was in the army for years, they married young. They couldn't have children of their own so they became foster parents."

"The times are changing. They'll have to accept that someday their little boys are going to turn into the teddy boys that hang around our shop."

"How do you know they're going to be teddy boys?"

"They're already listening to Elvis. It's only a matter of time."

Brian scoffed and stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray. Mal did the same, and reached for his jacket on the back of his chair.

"So they'll be with me when they become delinquents?" Brian asked.

"I didn't say they would be delinquents. Only teddy boys. And you'll know how to handle that."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Let's get back to the shop. I'll look around after we close."

The two men stepped out of the diner and into the bright sun. They didn't walk at a particularly fast pace, but instead meandered down the street, not really wanting to go back to work. It was unusual for Brian, who typically had to be pried from his desk. The weather was so nice, and Brian had just calmed down from a week of high anxiety. He didn't want to go straight back to work for the first time since he had been made director of NEMS.

The streets were lively that day. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea, taking their time in the warmth of the sun. Some people ate outside. Men discarded their jackets, and women showed off new dresses and hats. Shops flourished, and restaurants were packed. Buses passed, full of people running errands while the weather lasted.

"Four little boys," Mal said suddenly, shaking his head.

"What about it?" Brian asked, smiling to himself. "I like the thought."

"I do, too… Can I babysit?"

Brian scoffed.

"What?" Mal asked.

"Nothing… Sure. They'll love you if they can learn to love me."

"You're being too hard on yourself again. They'll come 'round. It'll take another visit or two, but there's nothing not to love about you. You're gonna be a great parent."

"Thanks," Brian mumbled. His cheeks grew hot and flushed.

They walked in silence until they reached the store a few minutes later. They parted ways, each going to their own work stations. Brian flipped the radio back on and straightened out his paperwork.

Hours passed without him knowing and soon, he heard the usual rush of kids come in. Most of them just browsed, or congregated until someone (usually Mal) chased them off. Some would buy an album, and some would try to steal (but, again, Mal chased them away). Brian always took refuge in his office.

A knock came at his door after most of the kids ran off to a diner or home.

"Come in," Brian called.

Mal strutted in, an album in his hands. He laid it in front of Brian with a grin.

"I thought you could give it to the boys," Mal said.

"Bill Haley and his Comets?" Brian asked.

Mal nodded.

"David and Sarah won't approve."

"Who says that they have the right to decide what the boys listen to?"

"Mal, they're their parents!"

"And _you'll_ be their parent soon. So why not? You said it yourself the other day, rock 'n' roll is going to be the basis of music some day soon. You'd be doing the boys a huge injustice denying them this."

"Were those my exact words?"

Mal nodded. Brian gave him a skeptical look. "I'll think about it."

Mal smiled. "That's all I ask," he said, heading to the door. "You have to teach these kids some culture."

" _Goodbye_ , Mal."

"Goodbye, Eppy." Mal stopped right outside the door, hand on the doorknob. He turned around on his heel and looked to Brian, face devoid of all humor. "It was being honest before. You're going to make a great dad."

"That means a lot." Brian ducked his head. "Thank you… for everything you've done these past weeks."

Mal shrugged. "What are friends for?"

Brian waited until the door closed to laugh. He examined the vinyl for a moment. There were worse things to give the boys. It would certainly make them happy, and in turn, make him happy.

Brian walked to his record player and laid the album down on the platter. He sat back down as the first song started.

_One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock rock_

_Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock rock_

_Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock rock_

_We're gonna rock around the clock tonight_

If David and Sarah heard the boys listening to it, he was in trouble.

He just wondered if rock 'n' roll was acceptable grounds to have a foster care license revoked.


	3. August, 1955 (III)

August, 1955

Brian wasn't expecting the second meeting to have a smooth beginning. He didn't get his hopes up as he knocked on the front door or as he stepped inside. When the boys refused to come out of their bedroom, he wasn't offended. When he went to them, and they huddled together like a pack of threatened baby animals, he tried not to let it go to his heart. When he sat on the floor with them for 3 minutes with his paper bag in front of him, he convinced himself it would only be a matter of time before they actually acknowledged him.

5 minutes passed, and John tucked his stuffed dog under his chin. Ritchie's eyebrows had yet to unfurrow.

7 minutes passed, and Paul had not let go of George's hand. They glanced to John and Ritchie every few seconds, as if they were unsure if they should still be mad.

9 minutes passed and Sarah peaked in. All she saw were the boys with their backs to Brian, who sat patiently, glancing between his watch and the kids. She slipped out unnoticed.

10 minutes passed. Paul let go of George's hand and scooted closer to John. They seemed to communicate through a steady, shared look.

11 minutes passed. Ritchie moved next to George.

12 minutes passed. Paul looked to Brian, ignoring John.

12 and a half minutes passed. Paul finally opened his mouth.

"What's that?" He pointed to the bag.

John didn't budge. How a bunch of toddlers could sit so still for so long was beyond Brian.

"A present." Brian said. "Do you want to take a guess at what it is?"

Paul shook his head. Brian laughed and pushed the bag to him.

It caught George's curiosity, and he crawled over next to the older boy. He sat up on his knees to get a better look into the bag. Paul looked behind him to Ritchie and John.

"Do you want to see what it is, too?" Brian asked them.

Ritchie nodded and took a place behind Paul and George. He turned to John and tugged on his sleeve. He was ignored.

"Leave him be," Brian told them in a gentle voice. "He's alright. He can see the present later."

The boys squirmed with anticipation as Brian pulled the album out of the bag. They gasped and reached for it, running their tiny hands over the cover that was comically large in comparison.

"It's Bill Haley and his Comets," Brian explained. "They're quite good. They're big in America."

The boys nodded as if they understood what they meant. They seemed to like the illustrations and colors, but soon found the slit to shove their hands through.

"Let's be careful," Brian warned. He held out a hand in precaution for if the boys dropped it or needed help.

With the combined effort of all three of them, they pulled the record out of its cover with the utmost delicacy.

"Do you want to listen to it now? I see you have a player in here."

"Yeah!" Ritchie and Paul said in unison. George still found interest in the album cover.

Brian took the record and settled it in the player. As the music began playing, the boys became even more excited. George lost interest in the sleeve and crawled over to the record player. Ritchie and Paul followed him. The youngest didn't seem to be that concerned with the music, but with the spinning of the vinyl. It was hard to tell what Paul was enjoying the most, but he beamed. Ritchie bobbed with the beat, dancing to himself and thoroughly enjoying the song.

John sat isolated, clutching his stuffed dog to his chest, only a few feet away. Brian couldn't look away from the pitiful sight. Obviously, John was going to be his biggest problem, and he couldn't blame him.

Brian sat down next to John without a word. The kid just turned his head, tucking his face against his toy.

"I'm sorry," Brian said, keeping his voice low enough for the rest not to hear. "This still isn't fair, is it?"

John shook his head.

"You should have been told in a different way that you're moving."

"I don't want to move at all," John mumbled.

"I know… Neither do Ritchie and George and Paul. And I don't want to take you away from your home. But some things have to happen."

"Why?"

Brian rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just the way life is. You're too young to understand that. You shouldn't have to know that bad things happen at this age. I really am sorry, John. You don't have to forgive me, but I would appreciate it if you gave me a chance."

John didn't say anything. Brian sighed.

"The others seem to be willing," he continued. "They might still be sad, but they won't let it get in the way of a chance to be happy somewhere else. I promise I'll try my very best with you four.

"Imagine the fun we can have together. We can listen to music like this all the time. I can tuck you in at night like Sarah and David. I have a friend I know you'll love to play with. He's an adult, but he likes to pretend he's a kid."

John didn't budge. Any offer Brian could give of the future was not enough. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He wrapped his arm around John.

It was the first paternal touch he had had with one of the boys, and it wasn't that great. John was stiff, and Brian felt as if the whole thing was too forced. John didn't pull away, though, and that was good enough.

Brian just hoped it wouldn't always be like this. John not protesting, but also lacking the warmth in a close relationship. He didn't want to have what would seem to become a strained relationship.

The half-hug caught the other boys' attention. As the first song ended, they made their way over in front of John. Brian pulled his arm away.

"It'll be ok," Ritchie told him.

He practically launched himself at John. In an instant, their arms were wrapped around each other. John's face was buried in Ritchie's neck, and his stuffed dog was forgotten at his side. Paul and George joined the hug behind John.

"It'll be ok," Ritchie said, patting John's head. "We'll still be together."

It tugged on Brian's heartstrings. They were a family, Ritchie understood. It didn't matter where they went. They would still be brothers in any house.

John's arms tightened around Ritchie's chest.

"We'll still be together," Ritchie said.

Paul turned to George and patted him on the head in an imitation of Ritchie. George smiled at him and tucked his head further into the pile.

"I don't want to leave," John whimpered.

"We don't either," Ritchie said, pulling away. "But we're leaving together. It won't be so bad."

The oddly prolific words from the four year old seemed to cheer John up. He smiled up at Ritchie, even though it looked forced and sad.

"Do you want to listen to the music?" Ritchie asked.

John nodded. Ritchie grabbed his hand and tugged him to the record player. Paul and George followed their lead.

Brian stayed where he was, watching them gather around again to listen to the music. He knew that John still wasn't happy - none of them really were. But this was a start.

George hung onto Paul's sleeve as he leaned forward to watch the spinning vinyl. John sat on his knees with Ritchie by his side. The older boy pointed out that the music was good, to which John agreed with a small smile.

Brian at least had an idea of what would make the transition a little more bearable.

He picked up the abandoned dog, examining the tearing seams once again. Again, he thought about how he didn't have the skill to ever fix it. If he practiced enough, he could try to sew it up a few more times if need be, but it would have to be thrown away someday. Maybe Brian would buy John a new one once they moved in. He could buy all of them new toys - ask Mal for advice on what to buy, as he had the same train of thought as kids.

Genuine smiles spread on the faces of the boys, with the exception of George, who was so mesmerized, he could only stare with wide eyes and an open mouth. Brian scooted back until he was leaning against one of their beds. He loosened his tie, discarded his jacket, and watched the four of them. It was comforting to know that soon, it would be like this all the time. Just the five of them.

He started falling into a daydream where he thought of normal days with them. He would be waking them up, making them breakfast, coming home to them after work - or taking them to work with him occasionally. That sounded doable. They could stay out in the shop with Mal for a while, or sit with him in his office and listen to music. They probably wouldn't want to stay all day, though. Unless, Mal and everyone else in the shop could entertain them while Brian did his boring business stuff.

But Brian didn't want to be boring to them. Maybe he would order inventory when the boys came in. Those days he would listen to new albums and decide which ones he wanted in the shop. Surely, they would get joy out of listening to the music and helping Brian pick which ones to order.

As the next song on the record began, the bedroom door opened. Sarah popped her head in. Brian met her questioning gaze and followed it to the boys.

"What are they listening to?" she asked.

Brian blushed. "A new group from America. They're -"

"Rock 'n' roll?"

Brian cleared his throat. The boys turned around to watch the conversation.

"Yes, but I hardly thought this was inappropriate," Brian said.

Sarah gave him a doubting look. "But you can't call this music. It's just… noise."

Brian didn't know how to reply. Sarah was definitely looking at the boys as if they were already wearing leather jackets, and George's fine hair was teased and combed back. It was just music. It shouldn't have been a big deal.

"They're enjoying it," Brian said with a shrug.

Sarah shook her head and stepped out of the room. When the door closed, Brian threw his head back and laughed. How ridiculous it all was.

The boys crawled over to him, eager to see what was so funny.

"Why are you laughing?" Paul asked.

Brian pressed his hand against his face. "I don't know."

He was thinking about how the toddlers in front of him were "rebellious" because of the music they naturally liked. Rock was such an enthusiastic genre, how could little kids not be naturally drawn to it? It had the same energy that all kids were bursting to burn. All they wanted to was let go of everything when they listened to this music. They weren't looking to be delinquents for the sake of being criminals, they were just trying to do something with themselves - and continually being told not to listen to their favorite music was such an offense, there was nothing they wanted to do more than be spiteful. Times change, and some people just didn't want to see it happen.

The boys continued to stare at Brian as he contemplated it all, staring at the ceiling. The next few years would be difficult. Music, kids, his kids… God knows everything would change. He would have entirely new music in his shop. He would be trying to patch holes in trousers and toys. He would be sending them off to school with other kids.

Brian put a hand on Paul's head and turned to all of them. They looked at him with owlish eyes.

"I'm going to learn how to sew."


	4. September, 1955 (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roughly (I am so bad at math):  
> Ringo - 4 years, 2 months; John - 3 years, 11 months; Paul - 2 years, 2 months; George - 1 year, 5 months (17 months)

September, 1955

"Think of all the laundry."

"Your life must be so hard."

"Four  _boys_ , Mal."

"Every other parent on this planet does laundry."

Brian groaned and rested his head on the bar counter. Mal pushed his beer away, creating more space for Brian to wallow.

" _Parent_ ," Brian repeated. "God…"

"You said you were used to this already."

"I  _was_ , but then I got  _drunk_."

Mal shook his head. "Don't be drunk on Monday, then, and you'll be fine."

"Monday is so close," Brian whimpered.

"You have the entire weekend, Eppy. Don't do this now. The boys need you to be strong. Besides, it'll be a week before it's all official. That should be plenty of time for everyone to adjust."

It would take about week for the boys to get completely settled. Little by little, things would appear in Brian's house. The first would be the four of them, ready to stay for however long the foster agency thought they should be together.

Tears would be shed on Monday, Brian knew. There would be screaming and wailing and no calm. He was prepared to stay up the whole night with them if he needed to. He could bribe them heavily the first week, and spoil them until they got used to living with him - if only Brian knew when that would happen.

"They love you," Mal said.

Brian shrugged. They probably loved Sarah more. He noticed the lingering hugs they gave her when Brian took them out for the day just that week. They didn't want to leave her for Brian.

"They do," Mal said. "I know when a kid is in love. Trust me."

"What if they…" Brian picked his head up. "What if they don't stay in love with me?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"What if I'm  _absolutely_ horrendous at being a parent? What if I'm not nurturing enough for them? What if I get overwhelmed because there's  _so many of them._ There's four _._ It's almost an entire hand, Mal." Brian waved his hand around to emphasize his point.

"You've handled them for the past two and a half weeks. You can handle taking care of them. You're not going to suddenly become a bad father."

"What if -"

"No more 'what if's. We're going home."

Mal put the money for the check on the counter, and helped Brian off his stool. He managed to shove his arms into his jacket, and direct Brian into a somewhat straight line towards the door.

"Lightweight," he mumbled under breath.

As soon as they were out of the bar, Brian twisted around to look Mal straight in the eyes. They were pressed against the door, and Brian held onto Mal's lapels. Fierce desperation gave him strength to clutch the fabric so tight in his hands that his knuckles turned white and Mal's collar dug into his neck.

"What if," he began in a whisper. "What if they find out about me... and that... I'm...?"

The confession was so quiet. Mal knew immediately what Brian had said, though, from the terror shining in his eyes and the trembling of his voice. Only one thing could frighten Brian so much. If anyone found out he was homosexual, he would have to say goodbye to the kids and any opportunity of having any others.

Brian's hands slipped from Mal's jacket, and he slumped forward.

"They won't find out," Mal whispered back, grabbing Brian under his arms. "We won't let anyone find out."

* * *

Monday came a lot sooner than Brian had wanted. His weekend had been filled with nerves and an awful hangover. He barely had time to plan or clean, but he also spent the majority of his time sitting on the floor of the boys' future bedroom. It was hard to tell where most of the weekend went.

Mal had picked him up early in the morning. Brian smoked cigarette after cigarette in the car, constantly ran his hand through his hair, and tapped his foot on the floor. His stomach was twisting more than it had the first day he had met the boys - which felt like years ago.

The drive was the shortest in Brian's life, and he felt like a school child having to be coerced out of the car. Once again, his hands shook as he knocked on the door.

"It's alright," Mal told him. "Think of where you'll be this time next week."

Brian swallowed hard. That was exactly what he didn't want to think about.

David answered the door with red, tired eyes. Brian felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He could hear sniffling and quiet crying coming from inside.

Without a word, David stepped aside and allowed the men in.

The second punch came immediately after Brian was across the threshold.

Sarah sat on the sofa, Ritchie in her arms, and George and Paul at her sides. Ritchie was crying the hardest. Paul held onto her skirt for dear life. George seemed to have worked himself up into exhaustion and merely laid against Sarah, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Hush, now," Sarah said to them. "Things will be alright."

She, too, cried.

Mal pushed Brian forward. He walked towards them on shaky legs and knelt down in front of them.

"Boys?" His voice was pathetic. "Boys, look at me."

Sarah nudged them to acknowledge Brian. He tried smiling at them.

"Don't cry so much," he told them. "You're going to see Sarah and David for the entire week. And even after that, you'll still see them."

Sarah nodded. "We're going to visit as much as we can. We won't be that far away."

The boys weren't convinced.

"Can you be brave for us?" he asked. "I promise you this isn't as bad as it all seems."

They seemed to calm down a bit - at least enough to listen. Paul nodded and wiped his face.

Brian turned to Ritchie. "We need you to be the bravest," he said. "For your brothers."

Ritchie nodded, but he didn't stop crying. Brian smiled and turned to Sarah.

"Where's John?" he asked.

Sarah shook her head. "He's in their room. He won't come out."

Brian sighed. Of course this was happening.

"David's with him," she said. "Don't worry about him."

Brian sunk lower on the floor. He grabbed one of George's hands and ran his thumb over it. George blinked slowly at him.

"This is Mal Evans," Brian said, turning around and pointing at him. Mal waved.

"Aren't you George?" he asked.

George nodded and sat up a bit. "Hi," he said.

"Hello."

"Mal's going to help us today. You'll like him. He's a gentle giant."

The corners of George's mouth turned up just the slightest.

"Is that a smile?" Brian asked. George shook his head.

Brian attacked George's tummy with his fingers, getting a little giggle from the toddler. He scooped him up and sat down next to Sarah, settling George on his lap.

The poor kid was probably too young to understand what was happening. He cried when he saw Ritchie and Paul do it, and was aware that he was going to leave Sarah. But, the permanency of it all wasn't comprehensible to him. Fortunately, it made it easy to calm him down.

"Ritchie? Paul? Do you want to meet Mal?" Sarah asked.

Ritchie shook his head, but Paul looked over at the man. He seemed interested.

"Paul?" Brian asked.

"You're really big," Paul said through tears.

Mal laughed. "Thank you."

"He's one of my best friends," Brian said. "He's very excited to see you boys a lot."

Paul smiled, and Mal smiled back.

"I'm going to spoil you all rotten," he said. "Anything you want, just ask me. I can't say no."

Paul rubbed his eyes. George stared at the man with amazement.

"Mal's a child himself, so you'll get along very well," Brian said, then, turning to Sarah: "He'll most likely babysit them most of the time."

Sarah nodded. Ritchie tucked his head into her chest.

"Brian always talks about you boys," Mal said. "He says you're loads of fun. Is that true?"

Paul shrugged. Mal tutted.

"Well, that's what Brian says, and I'm taking his word. I'm looking forward to playing with you lads."

The tears had finally stopped for Paul. He gave Mal a grin.

"Are you fun?" he asked.

"Am I fun?" Mal asked in a scandalized tone. "Did Brian not tell you? I am the most fun person ever."

"Nu-uh," Paul challenged.

"Yuh-huh," Mal retorted.

Brian rolled his eyes, but two kids were happy for the moment now. His stomach still twisted at the thought of John. He knew his limits. He knew it would probably take John more time, along with Ritchie, who was oblivious to the joy of his younger foster brothers.

A squeal came from George as Mal and Paul began making faces at each other. It didn't completely untangle Brian's insides, but it helped.

Paul looked to George in delight knowing he was partially responsible for his happiness.

"Boys," Sarah said softly. "Why don't you start getting ready to go. I'm sure Brian wants to leave as soon as possible. Go ahead and get your shoes."

A brief look of devastation flashed across Paul's face, but George didn't seem to be bothered. He wiggled off the couch with Brian's help and held onto Paul as they toddled out of the room.

Brian scooted closer to Sarah and Ritchie. He didn't say anything, but laid his hand on the boy's back. He shook with silent sobs.

Paul and George came back, holding their tiny shoes out to Brian. Brian knelt on the ground and sat them on the edge of the couch. He slipped their shoes on to their feet and couldn't help but smile, it was so adorable. They said thank you when he finished and helped them back down.

"Can you stay here?" Sarah said, rising to her feet and setting Ritchie down. "Can you stay here with each other while Brian, Mr. Evans, and I get your stuff?"

George and Paul nodded. They almost immediately went to Ritchie to comfort him.

Mal and Brian followed Sarah out of the living room and into the dining room. There were multiple boxes lined against the walls. Some were marked with  _Sarah and David_ and others with  _Boys_. The room looked eerily empty since the last time Brian had been in there - when the boys cried their hearts out the first time.

"We don't have to move all of this right now," Sarah said. "I organized everything in order of priority. I have their summer and spring clothes in these boxes." Sarah began gesturing to different boxes. "And their bedspreads in these. They wanted to have some of their stuffed animals with them today, but I have the rest of their toys here. I thought we could get those tomorrow."

As Sarah rambled on, Brian looked around. Everything was so well-thought out, that it must have taken hours to plan and execute. He knew how long it took to organize things this big, and especially to the extent that Sarah did.

"Wow," Brian said.

Sarah looked up at him. Brian tried to smile at her heartbroken eyes.

He pulled her into a hug.

"I've lost kids before," she said.

"But it can't be easy."

Sarah shook her head. "It never is… But you kind of get used to it. You know that they're not gone forever, and others are going to be around."

Brian went numb. He wasn't going to be a father. He was just a foster parent. It wasn't permanent. As he fell in love with the boys, he had been so caught up in the fact that he was going to get them, that he hadn't stopped to think about how they would, someday, not be there.

"You still hear from the other kids," Sarah continued, pulling away from Brian. "And you don't  _lose_ them, really. They just move away. You can't lose someone you love that much."

_Shit,_ Brian thought.  _Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit!_


	5. September, 1955 (II)

September, 1955

Smoking did very little to calm Brian down. Sitting on the back stoop of Sarah and David's house, he didn't feel the tranquilizing effects the nicotine typically had. He could still only think about how, perhaps in 5-10 years, he would be going through the same things with different kids.

It felt wrong. He had come to believe that the boys were special to him - and they were. They had found a special place in his heart and weaseled their way so far in. When applying to be a foster parent, he had thought about how nice it would be to have so many kids. He would raise one or two, see them off as they grew up, and then welcome new ones. He hadn't thought "welcoming" would be more of tearing them away from their previous homes. He also hadn't thought about the possibility of getting four little boys all at once. How had he convinced himself to do this in the first place?

Brian pressed his cigarette into the cement stoop. The black ashes spread out and piled up as he dug the cigarette further into the ground. He felt momentarily bad, thinking that he had scalded the cement with the still burning end, but he dismissed the idea. Liverpool was full of ash stains along the sidewalks. Whoever was buying the house would certainly be used to seeing them. If they didn't, what business did they have being in this city?

Brian threw the cigarette into the grass. The sound of a throat being cleared made him jump and turn around.

Mal was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and staring down at Brian with a scowl.

"You know littering is bad," he said.

Brian turned back around. "You didn't come out here to lecture me about the environment."

"You bet I didn't." Mal stepped out and sat next to Brian. "I came out to see what the hell you've been doing here for half an hour."

"Smoking."

"Bullshit. You're avoiding everyone."

"I am not -"

"You are to, Brian! I know that this is hard. I think it's great you're having a rough time because the boys are. I think that's what's going to make you a good parent. You can really connect with these kids. But, you have to snap out of it! You can't let this get to you so bad that you can't be with them when they need you. I understand that John is going to need a little extra help, but we left three other little boys who are going to need another parent as soon as Sarah and David leave. You have to be there, Brian."

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've been selfish."

"A little - and don't you dare say that that's going to make you a bad father."

Brian looked up. Humor shone in Mal's eyes.

"But what's bothering you so much this time?" Mal asked.

"I just thought about losing the boys like Sarah and David."

"Oh… Well, this can't be the first time you thought about that. You can't tell me you haven't thought through every detail of their lives yet. I know you, Eppy. You don't even make breakfast without spending five minutes debating what to spread on your toast."

Brian shrugged. "It just hadn't… sunk in until now. I was too overwhelmed about getting them. When I thought about losing children before, I hadn't thought it would be this devastating for them. I didn't have actual little lives to put in the scenario."

"Why are you even making a scenario for this, Eppy? You're ridiculous. Don't think about it if it's not guaranteed to happen. You might see these kids off to university, or watch them get married - even if they don't stay with you. Didn't you hear Sarah? You don't really lose them if you love them. Besides, what are the chances you're going to get separated? David and Sarah are only having to lose them because they have to move because of David's work, right? Well, what are the chances NEMS is going to move out of Liverpool and you with it?"

"I think you're right."

"I'm pretty certain I'm right."

Brian laughed.

"Are you ready to go in?" Mal asked.

"Give me a minute."

* * *

George chewed on a teething ring and watched Paul and Ritchie. Paul patted Ritchie's head as the older boy shed the last of his tears.

"It's ok," Paul told him.

Ritchie rubbed his eyes. He tried to smile, and George beamed past his drool-covered ring.

"See? They're all better," Mal said. "George was a bit fussy, but only -"

"Because he has another tooth coming in," Brian finished with a grin. "I know."

Brian walked over to the boys and knelt down in front of them.

"How are we doing?" he asked, ruffling Ritchie's hair.

"Good," Paul said.

Ritchie nodded in agreement.

"That's wonderful. I suppose you're all ready to go now?"

"Yeah," Paul said.

"Let's see. You all have shoes on. Do you all have the toy you want to bring?"

Paul waved his stuffed cat around, and Ritchie, his bear. George's bear laid in his lap.

"Wonderful," Brian said. "Anything else?"

"John's not here," Ritchie said.

"Well, David's getting him," Brian explained. "He'll be with us. Don't worry."

Mal walked through the living room, car keys in hand. "We have all the car seats settled, right?"

Brian nodded. "Grab a kid on your way out."

Mal bent down and examined each boy thoroughly. They giggled when he narrowed his eyes and scratched his chin, looking at all of them with the utmost consideration.

"I'll take George," he finally announced and grabbed the little one.

Brian held back a sigh. He reached down for Paul and Ritchie, miraculously balancing each boy on his hips.

Mal extended an arm. "Do you -"

Brian turned away. "I got them."

Sarah and David walked in together. John was being carried in, nearly asleep on David's shoulder. They both had red eyes, and John's cheeks were flushed deep red.

"Is he alright?" Brian asked, handing Ritchie over to Sarah.

"He will be," she said.

Paul reached out for John and whined when he was pulled away. "You'll be with each other soon," Brian told him.

Paul still whined at being denied access to comfort John. Brian patted him on the back and followed Mal out the door.

They had already arranged the seats so George and Paul were paired up with Brian and Mal. Paul kicked and pouted when he realized this. He voiced his disgust in quick babbles no one could particularly understand and raised his voice every minute. George dropped his teething ring to cover his ears and make displeased faces.

As Mal drove, he continuously looked over to Brian, who only starred forward. The only indication that he gave of hearing Paul's tantrum was the slight furrow of his eyebrows.

"How long does this last?" Mal asked.

"Until he tireds himself out. Shouldn't be too long."

By the time they had pulled up to Brian's house, Paul had quieted. He sniffled, and wept softly against Brian's shoulder as he was carried through the front door.

"Here we are, boys," Brian said. "This is your new home."

Paul looked around with watery eyes. George craned his neck to try to see everything until the upstairs caught his attention.

"We're going to set you here for a minute," Mal said, sitting George down in the living room. Brian followed suit. "And we'll be right back."

Brian set Paul down next to George. He patted his head, which evoked a whine from the small boy.

"Be good," he told them with a smile he couldn't contain.

After getting two boys settled, he felt much better. He had already successfully rode out a tantrum, and he wasn't met with protests when they walked through the door. The weight that lifted off his chest was almost immediate, and Mal could tell. He patted Brian on the back and smiled with him.

"Feel better?" Mal asked.

Brian nodded.

"See? Everything worked out."

"It did."

"And I was right."

"Yes… You were."

Mal looked smugged. "And look, we're all here helping you. It's as if you're not completely alone in this, Eppy."

David and Sarah were getting out of the car and helping John and Ritchie out. Ritchie looked up at the house with excitement burning bright in his eyes. John had just woken up and was half-asleep, but he raised his head to look around.

"We're here, sleepyhead," Sarah cooed, running her fingers through his hair.

Brian smiled as John rubbed his eyes. They were still red and puffy, but he didn't look as sad. He even reached out for Brian, making grabby-hands at him.

Brian took him from Sarah and led them all inside.

"Paul's excited to see you," Brian told John. "I am, too."

He set John down with Paul and George, who immediately clung to him. Ritchie toddled over, letting go of David's hand as soon as he saw where his brothers were.

"How sweet," Mal said.

Paul went through the process of comforting John, just as he did with Ritchie. He patted John's hair and reassured him that they would be ok. John smiled up at him, flinching occasionally when Paul's pats became a bit too hard.

Ritchie and George watched from where they sat. Ritchie picked up George's teething ring and handed it to him. George happily gnawed on it.

"I think they'll settle easily," Sarah said, her voice just a tad bit sad.

"Maybe we should move some boxes in here," David suggested.

Everyone nodded in agreement. As they started heading out, Brian stopped in his tracks.

"I'll be out in a moment," he told Mal.

When they left, Brian took the time to really look at the boys. They all looked content, playing with the stuffed animals they had brought along on the car journey. Their little faces were bright, and their conversation was limited to George's baby talk muffled through his teething ring.

"What sound does a doggie make?" Ritchie asked George, probably imitating something he heard Sarah ask before.

John held up his dog as George began barking. Paul giggled when John joined in.

Brian wiped at his eyes, surprised to feel the wetness of tears. He rubbed at them furiously with his jacket sleeves and laughed at himself. How ridiculous could he get today?

When he pulled his arms away, he saw four pairs of eyes watching him.

"Why are you crying?" Ritchie asked.

How perceptive these boys were.

"Because I love you all." He kneeled down and opened his arms. "Come here."

They ran into his arms, nearly knocking him over as they hit him, one by one. He held them all close.

"Daddies aren't s'posed to cry," John told him matter-of-factly.

The tears returned. The word repeated itself in his head.

_Daddy_.

 


	6. September, 1955 (III)

September, 1955

Brian learned that dressing toddlers was more difficult than undressing them. Once they had their clothes off, they didn't want to put any others on - especially if that meant getting ready for bed and saying goodbye to Sarah and David.

Brian felt that John and Ringo were purposefully stalling, but it was hard to tell with George and Paul. They had all taken a long nap and were wide awake by their bedtime. The smallest boys were still trying to play and ran away every chance they got, leaving Brian to chase them with their pajamas.

"James Paul McCartney get back here this instant!"

George had finally been wrestled into his nightclothes and sat giggling at Paul's antics. Paul stood in the corner of their room, laughing and jumping around. Brain had given up and sat on the floor in defeat. He clutched the pajama top in his hands, and gave Paul an apparently ineffective stern look.

"Paul, if you don't come here by the time I count to three, you are in  _very_  big trouble."

George was silent at Brian's serious tone.

"One…"

Paul stood still.

"Two…"

He looked worried.

" _Two and a half_ …"

Paul bolted over to Brian. He stayed still while Brian buttoned up his shirt.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Brian asked, releasing Paul.

He heard laughing behind him. Sarah and David stood in the doorway with John and Ringo.

"Impressive," Sarah said. She led John to his bed. "You're used to this already."

Brian smiled. "Being in business, I've learned to be persuasive and intimidating."

"Are the boys tougher than some of the people you've worked with?" David asked.

Brain nodded. "I usually only have to count to two. The boys are risk-takers with the 'and a half'."

Sarah laughed.

John climbed into his bed, cuddling his stuffed dog close to his chest. Sarah tucked him in like it was any other night, but there was an understanding that this would be the last time, and that gave the room an air of melancholy.

"Are you leaving now?" John asked.

"Yes," Sarah said. "But we'll be back tomorrow. It's only a night's sleep away."

John nodded.

"This isn't goodbye forever."

Sarah smiled down at John and kissed him on the forehead.

"Goodnight. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight," he said.

Sarah moved on to the next bed as David finished with Ringo. Brian picked up George and sat him in his crib. David caught Paul and put him in his crib, making sure he would settle down before he walked away.

"Goodnight, George," Brian whispered.

Laying down had an immediate effect on the boy. He blinked sleepily at Brian and raised a hand. Brian grabbed it and ran his thumb over tiny knuckles for a moment. When George's eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, Brian reluctantly let go.

"Goodnight, Paul," he said a few steps to his left.

Paul looked up at him with his absurd doe eyes. "I'm not sleepy."

"Yes, you are," Brian told him.

Paul shook his head. Brian leaned against the bars of the crib and smiled.

"Lay down, now." Paul fell on his back. "Good. Now, close your eyes. You'll fall asleep in no time."

Paul obeyed. He closed his eyes, and stayed quiet.

"Goodnight," Brian told him.

"Goodnight," Paul whispered back.

Ritchie was nowhere close to being asleep. He clutched his stuffed bear and looked up at Brian with his mournful eyes. Brian sat on the floor by his bed.

"Aren't you ready to sleep?" he asked.

Ritchie shook his head.

"You don't want Sarah and David to be gone when you wake up, do you?"

Ritchie nodded.

"Well… I'll still be here. I'm staying."

Ritchie smiled a bit.

Brian looked behind him to where Sarah and David were saying goodnight to the youngests. "I know it won't be the same, but I will be here. We'll eat breakfast together, and then we'll see Sarah and David again. They'll be back, and you'll see that they aren't gone forever."

"Ok."

"Ok."

Brian ruffled Ritchie's hair and hesitantly bent down. He kissed Ritchie's forehead. It was weird, but felt right when Ritchie beamed at him.

"Goodnight, Ritchie."

"Goodnight, B'yan."

John waited patiently for Brian to make it to his bed.

"Are  _you_  all ready for bed?" Brian asked.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Brian readjusted the blankets. "Goodnight, then. I'll see you in the morning."

He kissed John's forehead, making it less awkward than the last one. John didn't beam like Ritchie, but he did smile and hold up his dog. Brian kissed it goodnight, too, and didn't even feel silly. He was excited to tell Mal in the morning.

"I'll be down the hall if you need me, boys," Brian said before turning out the light.

Sarah and David waited by the door. When Brian was done, they stepped out together.

"You're doing wonderful with them," Sarah said as they walked down the stairs.

"It usually takes kids a while to warm up to a new place," David said. "But I'm sure they'll have no problems. They love you already."

"Thank you." Brian smiled. "Are you sure you want to leave now? Do you want a cup of tea?"

"No, we should be going," Sarah said.

"You just don't want to be left alone with the boys," David said. "They'll sleep through the night, don't worry."

Brian shook hands with David, while he and Sarah hugged.

"Have a nice night," Brian told them.

"Good luck," David said.

The house was quiet when the door closed. Brian sighed. After a whole day with the boys, he was exhausted - and it was only 8 o'clock.

He leaned against the door and slid to the ground. He just needed to take a minute.

* * *

Brian felt like a pound of sand was weighing down his eyelids. His book slipped from his hands and onto his bed. He turned to his head to his nightstand, looking at his clock. It had been only 10 minutes since he got to his bedroom.

He laid his book aside and slipped down on his mattress until he was laying horizontal. His suit would be wrinkled in the morning, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"B'yan!"

 _Shit,_ he thought.  _I can't ignore that. Not like the telephone._

Brian pushed himself up. He stumbled to the door and down the hallway. Light poured into the boys' bedroom and revealed all of them to be wide awake and staring at him.

"What is it, boys?" he asked.

"We can't sleep," John said.

"Do you miss Sarah and David?" Brian asked.

"Yeah," Ritchie said, and, christ, Brian could hear that they actually were upset.

"Watch your eyes," he mumbled before flipping on the lights.

They all sat up. Even George, who was sound asleep when Brian had left minutes ago.

"What do you want to do?" Brian asked them. "Do you want me to read you a story?"

They nodded. Brian walked over to the cribs.

"Alright," he said. "Ritchie, John, go in my bedroom. I'll be in in a moment."

The boys climbed out of bed and walked out together. Brian pulled Paul and George out and sent them to follow. Paul held George's hand as they toddled down the hall.

It took most of his mental effort to not topple down the stairs as he went to find a book that was still in the kids' boxes in the living room. He rummaged through one until he found something that looked mildly interesting, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

The boys were piled together on his bed. George was laying against Paul, John was holding Paul's hand, and Ritchie was holding John's other hand. Brian rearranged them around himself when he joined them, reclining against the headboard.

"Ready?" he asked. "Can you all see?"

They nodded.

Brian held the book out on his lap and turned to the title page.

" _And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street…_ When I leave home to walk to school,/ Dad always says to me,/ 'Marco, keep your eyelids up/ And see what you can see.'"

He felt the boys relax against him as the book went on. They giggled at the funny parts, and pointed out their favorite parts to each other. Ritchie told Paul and George what animals were what, and they asked what certain words meant. Brian was happy to stay a page longer for the boys to marvel at the pictures, and he even enjoyed the meter the story was told in. He vaguely remembered studying poetry in school and came to the conclusion that Dr. Seuss mastered poetry better than Byron.

"And that is a story that no one can beat/ When I say that I saw it Mulberry Street."

Brian's voice was quiet as he neared the end of the book. He forced his eyes to not stay closed when he blinked and soldiered on. When he finally read the last page, he let the book fall into his lap.

"Can we read another?" John asked.

"No, no… It's bedtime." But Brian didn't move. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "We'll get tucked in… in a minute."

The boys watched Brian fall asleep. John laughed, and George fell into his side.

"Goodnight," Paul whispered.

"What do we do now?" Ritchie asked.

"Stay here," John said.

They looked up at Brian again.

"We need to get Paul and George asleep," John told Ritchie.

George looked over when he heard his name.

"Can you sing?" Paul asked.

John's eyes lit up. He sat up and pulled Ritchie up with him.

"How much is that doggie in the window?" John began singing. Ritchie joined in with the next line. "The one with the waggily tail?/ How much is that doggie in the window?/ I hope that doggie's for sale."

The lyrics weren't completely accurate as they went on, and the words didn't match up as they each sang what they believed was right. They didn't care, though, because Paul and George were enjoying every bit. They ended the song at different times and looked to the younger boys for approval.

"'Nother!" Paul said.

John and Ritchie looked to each other.

"We don't know anymore," Ritchie said.

"George's sleeping," John whispered, bringing his finger up to his lips.

Paul mimicked him.

George was sound asleep, sucking on his fist, and laying against Brian.

"Go to sleep, too," Ritchie told Paul.

Paul laid down next to George. He giggled and closed his eyes.

John put his finger back up to his lips even though Paul couldn't see. "Shhh…"

Paul quieted down, and he curled up to George.

"Goodnight, Paul," Ritchie whispered.

"Goodnight, Ritchie. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Paul. Goodnight, Ritchie."

Ritchie giggled. "Goodnight, John."


	7. September, 1955 (IV)

September, 1955

Brian hadn't expected to have such an easy first morning with the boys. He woke up surrounded by them and immediately felt bad about not getting them into their own beds. They didn't seem to care, though. They enjoyed waking up with him, and Brian figured there was worse things than sleeping with his kids the first night together.

They played while Brian made breakfast, and they sat down together for their first meal alone. Brian hardly even remembered to eat because he was so caught up in watching them. They were messy, and it didn't even bother him. It would have been expected that he would cringe at the food being smeared around their faces and the table. But, he actually found it adorable. They were putting so much effort into getting the food into their mouths.

After their meal, Brian bathed them thoroughly, getting large amounts of scrambled eggs and toast out of places he couldn't understand. He found morsels hidden in tufts of hair and under pajama shirt collars. It seemed as though more food made it on them than in them.

They didn't put up as big as a fight as the night before when it came to dressing. Brian paid close attention to their attitudes and each experience he had for future reference.

Ritchie was so cooperative, he even helped trying to put his head through his shirt and his legs through his trousers. Brian congratulated him afterwards and ruffled his already messy hair.

John was like dressing a sack of flour. He let Brian manipulate his body any way he needed, but he wasn't any real help. He waited for Brian to raise his arms for him, shove them through his sleeves, and he got distracted easily. He wanted to watch his brothers play, or play with them and tried escaping with only one leg in his trousers.

Paul didn't run away again, but he was also the least cooperative. He didn't want to change and refused to let Brian put his clothes on. He thought it was a game and jumped and squealed as Brian became more and more frustrated. It took the use of muscles that Brian never thought he would use in his life to hold Paul down and dress him at the same time.

George was apathetic to the whole experience. He did what needed to be done, and Brian wanted to hold him forever when he toddled into his arms afterwards and cuddled against his chest. He held him for as long as he could, basking in the scent of baby shampoo and the feeling of tiny fingers curling around his shirt, until he heard the doorbell. He reluctantly let go.

The boys were ecstatic when they saw Sarah and David after dinner that night. They piled into their arms, but didn't hesitate to tell them about how great of a time they had had with Brian. It warmed his heart.

"So you didn't have any trouble?" Sarah asked.

"Not anything that I couldn't handle."

"Well, no one's dead," David said. "No limbs are missing, and the house is still standing. So, it mustn't have been too awful."

Brian pressed his lips together. David must have had low expectations of parenting and small children in general. Either that, or he didn't think Brian would be a good caretaker - but, Brian didn't want to think that was a possible option.

"Did they sleep alright?" Sarah asked, picking up Ritchie and giving him a long, hard hug.

Brian laughed. "We actually all slept together. They were having a bit of a hard time at first, but they made it through the night just fine."

"We sung to Paul and George," Ritchie said.

"Who's we?" Sarah asked.

"Me and John."

Brian raised his eyebrows. "When did you do that?"

"When you went asleep."

"Oh…" Brian blushed, remembering how he had fallen asleep before the boys. "That's very kind of you two."

John shrugged. "They like us."

* * *

"Joooohn!" Paul shouted.

He stood with George, trying to build a tower of blocks as high as they could. It had already surpassed George's height, and the smallest boy sat on the floor, tasting one of them. Paul struggled to get another on the top, and held it out to John, the tallest (despite not being the oldest).

The blocks were a new addition to their toy collection at Brian's home. Most of their stuff had been moved, but there was no rush, as it was an excellent way to wean the boys off Sarah and David. At the moment, the blocks had proven to be the most interesting, and they allowed Brian a few minutes to take his eyes off the boys.

John took the block and eyed the tower. He stretched and balanced it precariously on top.

"Say 'thank you'," Ritchie said from a few feet away, looking up from a small puzzle.

"Thank you," Paul repeated, handing John another block.

The tower grew until it was as tall as John. The multi-colored, multi-shaped blocks were stacked as high as they could, and they began to wobble. The boys didn't seem to notice and tried making it higher.

Brian walked into the room just in time to watch the tower tip over. The blocks crashed to the ground and just barely missed George. Brian scrambled across the room and scooped George up as he started crying.

"Be careful," Brian scolded the others.

He checked George for injuries. Upon finding nothing, he held George close and shushed him.

"You're alright," he said. "There's no need to cry."

Paul and John watched and waited for their punishment with wide eyes. Ritchie abandoned his puzzle for the commotion. He tugged on Brian's trousers leg.

"What is it, Ritchie?"

Ritchie pointed to George. "Can I help?"

Brian sat down so George could be at level with Ritchie. He didn't know what to expect. Perhaps he would be able to hear Ritchie sing like what he missed last night.

"George. Don't." It was all Ritchie said, adorably pronouncing George as "Joj" as the boys always did. He raised his hand to George's hair and, with an unusual gentle touch of a toddler, he began stroking it.

George pulled away from Brian and focused on Ritchie with no change in his crying.

"No. It's ok," Ritchie continued. "It's ok."

George wasn't calming down, but Ritchie wasn't discouraged. He continued to try to comfort George with Brian's help. After a few minutes of their combined efforts, it seemed that George was running out of tears.

John had gone back to playing with the blocks, and Paul watched Ritchie with growing jealousy. He was always the one to comfort George. He could do a better job at it than Ritchie.

Paul grabbed George's hand with more force than what was appreciated from the boy.

"Be gentle," Brian warned quietly when George whined.

Paul moved closer. Ritchie gave him a dirty look when that meant that he was getting less room.

"No!" George cried, and pointed to Ritchie.

Brian shushed him again. Paul's face became red.

"Paul, let Ritchie help, alright?" Brian said.

Paul shook his head furiously. "I want to!"

"Do  _not_  use that tone. You do  _not_ talk to me that way."

"Uh-oh," John said from behind.

Paul's face grew redder and tears began falling down his cheeks. Brian stared hard at him, but didn't say anything else.

Ritchie looked between everyone desperately, not knowing what to do or who to comfort.

He chose to reclaim his spot with George and patted him on the head. Paul withdrew from all contact and crossed his arms across his chest. He sat down, but he didn't get completely out of the way first. Ritchie didn't mind, though. He continued to stroke his hand across George's fine hair.

Eventually, George stopped crying, and Ritchie looked triumphant. Brian smiled down at the smallest boy, tired after his fit.

"Thank you, Ritchie," he said.

Paul's pout deepened.

"You know what?" Brian said, shifting George to his side. "I think it's time for a nap."

He offered Paul his other arm and hip, but they were refused with more tears.

"Come on along then, you three," Brian said, standing up.

John, indifferent to the crying, followed Brian through the sitting room. Ritchie hesitated, watching Paul break down even farther. He glanced to Brian and back to Paul, feeling his throat tighten and eyes begin to sting. Why would Brian just leave Paul there crying?

"Ritchie," Brian called softly, looking back. "It's alright. Come on."

Ritchie looked at Paul once more before catching up at the stairs. He took Brian's hand and followed them.

Brian made sure John wouldn't spring from the bed the second he left, and as he was lulling George to sleep, he heard a piercing scream. Ritchie looked to the door uneasily. Brian just sighed and went back to getting George to sleep, ignoring the muffled sounds of a tantrum outside.

When he was ready, he walked out to the sitting room and took a seat on the sofa. Paul laid in front of him, throwing a fit, kicking and screaming. He needed time to cool down. He needed to know that he wouldn't get anything this way.

It took a moment for Brian to realize when it happened, but the screaming had finally stopped after about 15 minutes. Paul sat on the floor, sniffling and wiping at tears. Brian sat down his paper.

"Are you ready for a nap now?" he asked.

Paul nodded. Brian knelt down in front of Paul. He held open his arms and let Paul crawl in them.

"Let's clean up your face before you lie down."

Brian carried Paul to the bathroom and sat him down on the counter. He wiped his face with a wet cloth, removing all the snot and tears that stained Paul's puffy cheeks. The toddler sat still through it all.

After he threw the cloth in the hamper, he stuck his fingers in Paul's side. It got a little giggle, and Brian swept him back up. Quietly, so not to wake up the others, Brian tucked him in his crib with a kiss.

* * *

The weather was nice, and it was probably one of the last warm days of the year as it neared October. Brian had released the boys from the house and taken them to the docks. They enjoyed the walk, splashing in puddles the rain from that morning left behind, and narrating everything they saw.

"What do you have there, John?" Brian asked.

John held up a small rock that he had dug out of the ground. His little hands were muddy, and Brian fought the urge to set George down to fish his handkerchief out of his pocket.

"It's pretty," John said.

"It is," Brian agreed, even though it looked no different than any other pebble in Liverpool. It was dull and grey, much like the sky. "Are you going to take it home?"

John nodded. He examined his rock as they neared the water, and the boys wanted to take time to watch the boats.

Brian let George down to stand with his brothers. They wrapped their hands around the bars of the fence, and they stared in awe at the river. John tucked his rock into his pocket and smeared mud on his jacket. It spread to Ritchie's when they pressed against each other.

Brian knelt behind them, peering over their heads.

"Look!" Paul said to George as one boat began coming closer.

George reached out between the bars. "Boat!"

Brian laughed. "It's big, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The boat, still some distance away, began turning away from the dock.

"Bye!" Paul called.

They all waved and giggled as it got smaller.

"Good-bye!" Brian yelled with them.

"Where's it going?" Ritchie asked.

Brian thought. He looked to the expectant faces below him, and smiled at their innocent curiosity. Their eyes were brighter than the corner of sun that peaked out from behind clouds. Their cheeks, round and pudgy with youth, were rosy from the slight wind and excitement. Their hands lingered so close to one anothers, clutching a sleeve or other tiny fingers.

Warmth filled Brian's entire being. His heart beat with ease, and he reached out to cup a cheek.

"Home."

* * *

Brian turned to the final page of  _The Book about Moomin, Mymble and Little My_. It revealed solid paper. There was no hole like the previous pages for the boys to see a glimpse of what would come next. George reached out and touched the last page. Brian let him examine it for a few seconds before he began reading.

"'Yuck!'," he read. "'All the milk's turned sour and cheesy.' Mama says "Never mind. It's easy: Now we've all got a great excuse For drinking sweet pink berry juice!"'"

The boys giggled.

"'This hole - the very last you see - They can't get through it - it's much too wee. "We'll stay here in this book, and why? 'Cause we're too big," said little My.'"

Brian closed the book.

"Another?" John asked.

"No. It's time for bed," Brian said. "Aren't you sleepy?"

John shook his head, but his heavy eyes told differently. Brian tossed the book to the coffee table and stood with George in his arms.

"Come on, you four."

Ritchie raised his arms in request to be carried. He was already half-asleep, so Brian was willing to comply. Ritchie rested on one hip and George, the other.

They all slowly walked up the steps and to their bedroom. John climbed into his bed, and Brian laid Ritchie down in his.

"Goodnight," Brian said after he tucked in each boy.

"Goodnight," the boys replied in varying degrees of intelligibility.

Brian flipped off the light and left the door slightly ajar.

* * *

"Don't go."

It was the third time Brian had heard it that morning. He didn't want to go back to works at NEMS, which was a foreign feeling to a workaholic. The pleading looks of all the kids made him want to quit and stay at home forever. The rational side of him realized that that was no way to conduct a business and no way to be financially responsible for four children.

"I have to."

The kids had just left their former parents.

"Please?"

They probably didn't know if Brian would come back.

"I won't be long. I'll be back for lunch."

He wrapped them all in a hug and kissed the top of their heads. He looked to the nanny behind them.

"They'll be alright," he told her.

The young woman, Jane, had been hired the same week Brian got the boys. Brian had initially tried working out a schedule with Mal so one of them could be with them throughout the day, but the men found that both of them not being at NEMS together for so long was not wise. Brian finally decided on a nanny until the boys were old enough to look after themselves, many years down the road.

"I have to go now," Brian said. "Before you know it, I'll be back."

He stood up and walked to the door, looking back one more time before leaving.

_Lunch,_ he told himself. That was as far as he needed to make it, and even so, the boys were just one phone call away.

The late September air chilled Brian. He wrapped his jacket tighter around his body. The weather was changing fast, and no doubt the boys would love to see the autumn leaves littering the ground.

A gust of wind whipped Brian's hair, and he pushed it back in place with the palm of his hand.

His hands felt empty. His hips felt light.

He felt alone.

 


	8. September, 1955 (V)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime. At some point the Beatles were on break during a tour or on vacation or something like that. They were somewhere out in the country, and there were horses. The boys had to be dragged from bed because they wanted to sleep and relax, but they had riding scheduled. So, whoever it was that was instructing them was like "this is the hardest thing ever" because Paul wanted to smoke on the horses, they all wanted to get high and do nothing, and - the best part - Brian was super nervous. He was afraid that the horses would throw the boys off, and they would get hurt. Cutest thing ever.

September, 1955

Brian spent fifteen minutes saying good-bye to George. He waited until the last possible second to leave the house, and spent all that time holding the toddler's hand.

"The telephone number to my office and the doctor is next to the phone," Brian told her.

He had already been through the long list of emergency phone numbers with Jane when he had gone back to work the week before. He didn't anticipate George getting sick, however, and felt overwhelming anxiety and misery when he knew that he couldn't stay at home. True, it was just a cold, but Brian had wanted to be with the boy all day and all night to soothe his suffering.

"Do I need to take his temperature?" Jane asked, trying to mask her slight disgust at the potential of having to use a rectal thermometer.

"No. Not unless you think he has a fever."

George fussed in his crib. He held onto Brian's index finger while Brian's free hand stroked his cheek and fair hair.

"He'll be ok," Jane said.

Brian nodded. He pulled the blanket around the little boy. His little boy who had woken himself up coughing the night previous and who still coughed harder than what his little lungs seemed capable of.

It's just a cold, Brian told himself. It's not a big deal.

The door was slowly opened, and Paul peaked into the room. He ran to the crib and held onto Brian's trouser leg as he looked through the bars.

"Are you going to help take care of George today?" Brian asked.

Paul nodded. He had been reluctant to leave the younger boy's side all morning. He wanted to hold his hand like Brian did and stop the fussing. George wasn't much fun like this. It made Paul feel sad, too. He didn't want to see George not having fun. Not when he had such a great laugh and smile.

Brian ruffled Paul's hair.

"I have to leave," he said, kneeling down to Paul's level. "Have a good day, alright?"

Paul nodded.

Brian kissed the top of his head and gave him a hug. He stood back up to look over George.

"Goodbye," he whispered, stroking a soft cheek. "I'll see you again soon."

George whined when he longer had Brian's hand to hold onto, but he calmed when Paul took his place and stuck his hands through the bars.

"You'll be back for lunch?" Jane asked, although she knew the answer.

Brian nodded. He turned on his heel to leave as quickly as he could, because if he didn't he would have lingered in that room all day, but was stopped by the sight of John and Ritchie in the doorway.

They stared at Brian with large eyes. John clutched his stuffed dog against his chest. Ritchie wrung the bottom of his sweater in his hands.

"What do you need, boys?" Jane asked, motioning them forward.

"We wanted to see George," Ritchie said, walking to the adults.

John stood next to Paul and looked at George for a few seconds. He whispered something to his dog - not anything Brian could hear - and slipped it through the bars.

George held the toy close. He held it like he had seen John hold it so many times before, with security and needing comfort.

"Is he ok?" John asked, looking up to Brian.

"He will be," Brian said. "You boys are a big help."

John and Ritchie beamed. Paul didn't hear.

"Goodbye," he told them and kissed them each on top of the head.

Leaving the room was hard, but he had to collect himself for a few seconds before stepping outside into the wet, chilling air. He wrapped his coat tighter around his body, but it did nothing to protect him from the encompassing cold. It was not yet October. Brian didn't understand why it was so cold already.

Dr. Samwise, an aged man that slightly resembled a walrus with his thick mustache and bulky body, was recommended to Brian by a friend whose kids had obviously not seen a pediatrician in a long while.

"He's very good," this friend, Karen, had told him the week before the boys had moved in with him. "He did wonders every time my girls got sick. You need someone like him. your boys won't be in any better hands."

Brian had taken Karen's advice with a grain of salt, since he had known that her children were older. After finding no better recommendations, though, and as the boys' didn't have a consistent previous doctor, he decided to call.

"Let's see what he have here," Dr. Samwise said, eyeing George critically before slipping on a pair of thick glasses that made his eyes double in size. He smiled. "Oh. It's a boy."

George sat quietly on Brian's lap and shied away into Brian's shirt.

"What symptoms has he had?" Dr. Samwise asked.

"He's had a cough and a runny nose," Brian said. "He sleeps most of the day, and he's fussy whenever he's awake."

"How long has he been ill?"

"Since yesterday morning - early morning."

Dr. Samwise nodded and dug around in his bag. He pulled out an otoscope for his ears and a nasal speculum, which he immediately handed to George. The toddler found a little enjoyment out of playing with it, but its main purpose was a distraction as Dr. Samwise moved around him to look into his ears.

"These look clear. You're doing very good with these," he told George, tapping his left earlobe.

George stared at him. They swapped instruments.

He put up a little fight when Dr. Samwise when they tried lifting his chin to look into his little nose.

"George, please," Brian begged, desperate by this point in his child's illness. "You need this exam."

George only whined and turned his head away. Dr. Samwise sat his instrument in his lap.

"It's not scary," he said. "It doesn't hurt. Do you want to see daddy do it first?"

Dr. Samwise looked up to Brian and nodded. Brian felt the urge to trust him, though the title of "daddy" threw him off a little. It always did when people mistook him for their actual father rather than foster, or believed that the boys could not tell the difference.

"Or," Dr. Samwise said. "You could do it for me."

Regardless if George was understanding what Dr. Samwise was saying to him, Dr. Samwise handed George the speculum and showed him how to look through it. He helped George hold it steady up to Brian's nose for a few seconds before pulling it away.

"Good job," Brian told George. He kissed the top of his head.

"Can we see your nose now?" Dr. Samwise asked. "It didn't hurt, did it?"

"I didn't feel anything."

It was easier getting George's head up, and Dr. Samwise tutted when he looked.

"He'll need saline drops," he said. "To clear up his sinuses."

Brian held George close. The little body was exhausted and gladly relaxed into the arms of Brian. He sat patiently for the rest of the appointment, clinging onto Brian more and more every minute until he completely curled up in his lap. He was falling asleep from gentle strokes and rocking by the time Dr. Samwise finished. The adults talked in whispers, exchanging information and allowing George to nap in Brian's arms.

"Try not to worry," Dr. Samwise said as he was walking out the front door. "All kids get sick. George'll get over this in no time. Have him rest, make sure he eats well, and he'll be fine."

"Thank you." Brian repositioned George in his arms. He coughed.

"You'll be in for a long week, though," Dr. Samwise said. "Don't expect to sleep too much. And maybe move his crib into your bedroom if you haven't already."

Brian nodded.

"You're new to parenthood, aren't you?"

Brian nodded again. Dr. Samwise laughed.

"Well, take it from a man that's raised 5 kids, you're doing fine."

He reached out and patted George's hand. Brian looked down at him. The tiny, pudgy face was at complete peace. He admired it for a moment.

"You really love kids, then?" Brian asked.

But when he looked up, Dr. Samwise had already left.

Strange fellow, Brian thought.

Mal laid George down on his designated spot on the floor. A soft blanket had been spread out for him, and the other three boys would gather around it to comfort George, who always protested to being set down alone.

"Hello, Dr. Samwise? It's Brian Epstein."

Brian watched his children and Mal, phone pressed against his ear, and fingers twirling the wire.

"I'm calling about George Harrison," he said. "I'm afraid his cold has gotten worse. He has a low grade fever and is very miserable... Yes, I'll wait."

Mal met Brian's eyes. It was painful to hold eye contact with the desperate, worried eyes.

"He has to find George's records," Brian explained. "God knows how long that'll take. The man's old enough to - Yes! Yes! I'm still here."

Mal almost laughed at Brian's suddenly flushed cheeks.

"Yes. 17 months. 33 inches. 26 pounds. That's George. You just saw him a few days ago."

Paul laid down next to George, on his belly. George looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. It was all too much. It had been days and he hadn't gotten any better.

Ritchie and John sat next to them. John held his dog out for George to take, but when he realized the little boy had no interest in it, began stroking his cheek with a paw.

The dog, ever present in John's arms or bed, was continually falling apart. After it had spent a rough morning nap with George, the stuffing was a little more visible through the brown fur. John didn't seem to notice the injuries from the toy's line of duty. He probably never would until it fell apart completely.

Mal smiled down at the boys and pulled Ritchie into his lap.

"Thank you for making George feel better," he told them.

"You're welcome," Ritchie said.

The phone was placed on the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

"I swear, that man wouldn't remember to put in his teeth if he didn't need them to eat," Brian said.

"That bad?" Mal asked.

Brian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He's old. He's kind and good with kids, but... my God, he's old.

"Well, what did he say?"

"Keep a close eye on George through tonight, and if he's any worse tomorrow, call him back. We should also keep the others away as long as George is feverish."

Mal nodded. "Come on, boys. Do you want to play outside?"

"No," Paul said.

"But it's so pretty outside. All the leaves are different colors," Mal said. "They're orange - like the sky at this time."

They shook their heads.

"You need to leave George alone for a little while," Brian said, kneeling down. "We don't want you three getting sick, too. That's not any fun. Go play with Mal for a little while."

They reluctantly stood, got wrestled into their jackets, and followed Mal out the front door.

Brian picked up George as he started crying.

"No, no," Brian whispered, rubbing George's back. "It's alright. I'm here."

He sat down on the sofa and laid George against his chest. The toddler's face was red from tears and illness. Brian stroked a wet, warm cheek while the other cheek dampened his shirt.

"I can't imagine how miserable you are," Brian said, more to himself than George. "You're so tiny. You're too small to have to be sick."

The even rise and fall of Brian's chest rocked George to sleep. The steady beat of his heart provided a lullaby. Eyes were closing. Tears were drying.

A small hand wrapped around Brian's finger. Brian bent down to kiss it.

"Goodnight," Brian whispered. "I love you, George."


	9. September, 1955 (VI)

September, 1955

Brian leaned over Paul, stretched out on his back on the floor of the boys' bedroom. The toddler giggled in anticipation and squealed in delight when Brian pressed his lips against his tummy and blew noisily. He flailed his arms and legs when Brian did it again.

Paul smelled like baby soap and his skin was pleasantly soft. Brian rested against the little body, enjoying the feeling of a soft, slightly plump baby. He wanted to stay there forever, where his only focus was on cuddling Paul. There were no feverish toddlers to cradle and comfort. There was no stress and no nerves when he was engulfed in the air of Paul.

"Ow!"

Paul squirmed with a scowl.

Brian pulled away. He felt his cheek and noticed the stubble that had appeared.

"I'm sorry," he said with a forced laugh to show Paul there was no malicious intent.

In the five days that George had been ill, he had neglected to keep up with his usual routines. His face now sported a two day shadow. He grabbed Paul's shirt and finished dressing him, distracted by the fact that his personal hygiene had dropped.

At least Paul seemed to put it out of  _his_  mind. The little boy gazed up at Brian, bringing his thumb to his mouth. He had been chewing on things lately, and Brian wondered if he was beginning to get another tooth. It would be perfect timing as George had just finished his latest tooth, but also terrible timing as Brian had no energy to deal with  _another_ miserable toddler. Maybe if he was lucky, it would go easy. Sarah and David said that they hadn't really had any problems before with Paul teething. Ritchie had been another story, but at least he was all done.

Brian would pray before he went to sleep that night.

"Goodnight, Paul," he said, laying Paul in his crib.

"G'night."

Beautiful hazel eyes closed.

He walked past the other two boys, already tucked in.

"Goodnight, John." Brian whispered. "Goodnight, Ritchie."

They mumbled sleepy "goodnights".

It had taken forever to get the boys in bed. After Brian had George down, the others wanted the attention that they had been deprived of. He read them a story and gave Paul warm milk to settle him down. After they were all satisfied, they willingly went to bed - but not without 5 minutes of individual comfort first.

Brian left the door ajar and turned down the hall. Just as he neared the stairs, dreaming of roughly cleaning the sitting room and crawling into bed for well-deserved rest, he heard crying coming from his right. On the other side of the stairs, was Brian's bedroom, where George was sleeping for the time being.

Well, sleeping when he wasn't begging for affection.

Brian peaked in. George was sitting up in his crib, bawling. His nose ran, and the snot mixed with his tears and soiled his pajamas. He had to be uncomfortable with his face and neck soaked. Especially on top of his fever that stained his cheeks with a flush.

Brian had no choice but to wrap him in his arms and bring him downstairs.

"I'll call Dr. Samwise tomorrow," he told George, fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket. "He might know what to do with you."

Almost an hour later, the sitting room was dimly lit with only the soft glow from the tv and the low hallway light from upstairs. Brian sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, and George laying on his chest. He wasn't aware of what time it was anymore, but he knew it was late going by his complete exhaustion. His body felt weighed down with more than a dozing toddler, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. With every blink, his eyelids stayed closed for a second longer. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep for hours, but as long as George was up, he was, too.

Brian pulled the blanket farther around George's body and tucked the little boy closer to his chest.

As the news anchor droned on about all the unfortunate happenings in the city, Brian heard slow footsteps across the floor by the stairs. He turned around and watched John peak between the bars of the banister, little blanket wrapped around his shoulders and eyes wide with curiosity.

Brian sighed. He laid George on the couch, shushing him when he whined and reached for the warm body and steady heartbeat that abandoned him.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Brian asked as he walked up the stairs. "It's late."

Brian unlatched the child gate, though, and offered his hand, leading John down the steps. He really didn't have time to get John back in bed. He would be back up in a matter of minutes anyways.

John focused on his feet and taking the stairs one step at a time. He didn't answer until Brian lifted him over the bottom child gate. "I woke up."

They settled on the couch. Brian reassumed his position with George, who was happy to have Brian back.

"So you decided it was alright to get up?" he asked.

"Yeah," John replied casually.

John leaned into Brian's side and grabbed George's hand with the gentleness and compassion that only an older brother could give.

"Is he ok?" he asked.

"Yes. He's having a little trouble sleeping, that's all."

"Is he gonna get better?"

"Of course."

John yawned. "Good. He's not fun now."

They sat for a while longer. John hummed to himself - or maybe to George. If Brian were any less tired, he would have been ecstatic to have the chance of hearing one of the boys sing to another. But, in his sleep-induced apathy, he knew it was only indirect humming.

Instead, he asked how often they sang to each other.

John twisted his mouth in thought. "A lot. A gazillion times."

"A gazillion times? Wow."

John nodded.

"Why do you sing to your brothers?"

"They like it," he said as if it was the most obvious answer.

"Oh. What do you sing?"

"Everything."

"Do you make the songs up yourselves?"

"Sometimes."

"What are they about?"

"Things."

Brian chuckled. John buried his head into his side, withdrawing his hand from George's.

Brian squeezed his shoulder. "Are you tired?"

John shook his head.

"Oh. That's a shame. I was about to put George to bed. I was hoping I could tuck you back in, too."

"Just a little longer?"

Brian laughed. "Just a little. This time, though, I'm going to tuck you in extra tight so you can't escape."

"What if I need out?"

"Then you call for me."

"But George -" John yawned again. "He won't like yelling."

"I can calm George. Do you plan on needing out of bed tonight?"

"No."

"Then these are silly questions."

John shrugged. "I was just asking."

John Lennon. The most curious toddler in existence.

"Well, we'll stay in here for a little while longer, and then we'll put George to bed, alright?"

John nodded. He watched the younger boy start to relax farther and fall asleep.

"G'night," John whispered. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

* * *

Brian found himself sitting with George and Dr. Samwise on the floor late the next morning.

"Just over 38 degrees," Dr. Samwise said, squinting at the thermometer.

"Is that particularly bad?" Brian asked, cleaning up George's bottom.

"No... no. It's not good, but we can manage this. Give him aspirin and bathe him in lukewarm water. You can crush the baby aspirin into juice to get it down in him. That usually does the trick."

Brian bundled George into his arms. Dr. Samwise folded up the towel the toddler had laid on while his temperature was checked and placed it on the coffee table.

"Doctor, I don't mean to sound rude, but... George hasn't really seemed to have benefited from your visits."

"I've only been here once before."

"I know, and I apologize, but I'm not certain -"

Dr. Samwise held up a hand with a smirk. "I know that I'm old and may not seem like I'm all here. But, I have been treating patients longer than you've been alive, kid. How old are you?"

"24," Brian mumbled.

"When did you turn 24?"

"Just before I got the boys."

"And I've been practicing for 45 years. That's twenty years longer than you've been alive. I could have treated your parents when they were in nappies."

Brian's cheeks burned. "I apologize."

Dr. Samwise hummed. "Trust me, boy. I know a lot about kids. I know that a week isn't enough time for a little one to get over a cold. I know that you'll probably have another sick boy on your hands before the end of the day. And when you do - if he's feverish - give him aspirin as well. Otherwise, fluids and rest. That's the best for a kid."

Brian nodded, averting his eyes. He should have known better than to question him.

Dr. Samwise smiled a very charming smile and began speaking in a gentle voice. "There's no hard feelings. Get George that medicine and call me if he gets any worse."

"I will."

"Good. I trust you as a father, Mr. Epstein. I can tell George is in good hands."

He stroked a lock of George's hair. Brian smiled.

"Do you have anyone helping you while the little one is ill?" Dr. Samwise asked.

"Yes, my friend has been keeping an eye on the other boys while I take care of George."

"He's a good friend."

"He is. He's grown just as close to the boys as I have. He's a child like them, so I understand why they all get on so well."

"What about the past foster parents?"

"They're not in Liverpool anymore. They try to visit when they can, but… it hasn't actually happened yet. They're busy."

"Foster parents typically are. Raising children is no easy feat and when there's all that paperwork involved?" Dr. Samwise scoffed. "You're all nothing less than saints. But tell me, why did you decide to take on four kids?"

"I didn't have much say in the decision. We were merely assigned to one another. It was for the boys' benefit that they not be separated."

"But why did you want to be a foster parent? Most men your age are getting married and having their own kids."

Brian shrugged. "I've never thought of myself as the marrying type."

It wasn't a complete lie.

"Ah. You're one of  _those_  men," Dr. Samwise said in an accusatory tone.

Brian waited a few seconds before he realized what Dr. Samwise meant was  _not_  what Brian thought on first impression.

"I suppose… I have nothing against marriage, but I haven't ever thought I would make a suitable husband to a woman."

Swallowing was becoming hard.

"I had spent some time in the military in London," he continued, concentrating on fixing George's pajamas. "And that was how I spent a large portion of my time when I was younger. I didn't think I had time for a girlfriend."

"And there's still no time now?"

"Well." Brian gestured to George. "Not  _now._  Before, though, I've had a business I inherited from my parents. I spent quite a lot of time in the beginning trying to get on my feet."

"It's calmed since then?"

"Yes."

"And you decided to foster children instead of finding a girl?"

Brian forced a laugh.

"You're a strange man, Mr. Epstein."

Dr. Samwise heaved himself to his feet, resisting assistance from Brian. It took awhile, but he made it, hands braced on the couch.

"I'll show myself out," he said, already walking to the door. He turned around before he opened it. "It's not too late to find a wife."

Brian smiled and nodded.

The door closed. Brian waited for a few seconds.

"Time's not the problem."

He walked to the kitchen and sat George in his highchair. The little boy fussed, but Brian shushed him while grabbing a bottle of baby aspirin.

George wasn't happy about being roused from his drowsy state. He didn't want to drink the juice that Brian had dissolved crushed aspirin into (something that Brian prided himself on knowing how to do). He wanted to continue sniffling at Brian.

Brian didn't have the energy to deal with a stubborn toddler. He forced the sippy cup to George's mouth and waited for George to open. When he finally accepted it, and drank the juice that surprisingly disappeared within a minute, Brian sighed with relief. At least one thing was going alright.

He scooped up George and carried him to the boys' bedroom. There, the boys played with Mal to stay out of the way of Brian and the doctor. They looked up from their puzzle when he walked in, but stayed put, as they were too absorbed in their activity. John was searching for the right piece, Ritchie was struggling to fit two non-matching pieces together, and Paul was having a piece pulled away from his mouth by Mal.

Brian sat on John's bed to watch them.

"What did Dr. Samwise say?" Mal asked, offering Ritchie a new piece.

"Give George aspirin. One of the others may catch cold. It's never too late to get married."

Mal furrowed his eyebrows. "Did… did he propose to you out there?"

"No. He asked why I wasn't married, and I said there was never any time to find a girl."

"Lie."

"Not entirely. We started talking, and he gave me parting advice."

"You talked? I thought you hated him."

"I don't! I've just…"

"Haven't trusted him. You judge, Brian."

Brian shook his head. "Perhaps."

"'Perhaps'? Eppy, you judge people the second they step through the door. Mostly on the clothes they wear."

"I'm not going to continue this conversation."

"Fine. The boys and I are having a wonderful time, anyways. Isn't that right, boys?"

There was no response. They continued to solve their puzzle.

"They really like this puzzle," Mal said. "It's a panda."

Brian nodded. "I'm going to put George down for a nap."

He was already falling asleep cradled in Brian's arms.

"You should lay down, too."

Brian looked at Mal. "I don't need to. The boys need lunch soon, anyways."

"I can handle them. You need a kip, Eppy. Go." He waved his hands. "Shoo."

Brian gave him a dirty look, but slowly rose to his feet. His hips and back had developed a chronic, mild ache since he began carrying the boys. They throbbed mercilessly now.

Mal went back to the puzzle. John had successfully found a piece to match another and was looking for another in pile scattered across the floor. Ritchie, frustrated at this point, tried beating two pieces together with his fist.

"No, no," Mal said. He pried them apart. "We can find where these go."

Ritchie fell into Mal's side and crossed his arms. Maybe it was too hard of a puzzle for him. There were more, smaller pieces than their usual puzzles. It was bought by Brian, and it proved that the man had higher expectations for the boys than he probably should. But at least John was figuring out a good chunk of it.

"What do you boys want for lunch?"

They all shrugged.

"Ice cream," John said.

"That's not lunch," Mal said after he deciphered the actual words from John's "aus crem". Mal ruffled his hair. "But maybe if you're all good you can have some later."

John and Paul grinned. Ritchie looked up at him, unsure if he should be happy about breaking a rule. Brian was very strict about sweets.

"Let's finish the puzzle, alright? Then we'll see what there is to eat."

* * *

It was a dreamless, dead sleep. When Brian woke up, it felt as though he had only blinked. He was unsure what time of day it was, but he judged by his grogginess that he must have been asleep for a long time. Either that, or he was getting sick.

His chest felt slightly constricted, and his head felt heavy. He could barely lift it and his nose began dripping as soon as he did.

"Christ," he sighed when he read his clock as he grabbed a handkerchief from his nightstand drawer.

It was 3 in the afternoon. How could he have slept for four hours? Was it even Sunday still?

George wasn't in his crib. Brian wondered when Mal took him or how he slept through it. He must have really been out.

He looked in the mirror and sighed in disgust. His face was pale. A hand through his hair couldn't fix the tangles and matted curls. His eyes were dull. His clothes were in drastic need of an iron. There was nothing he could do about his appearance.

He fell through the door and stumbled through the hallway. His entire body protested to walking but he made it down the steps with the sole motivation of seeing his boys.

They were all on the living room floor with Mal. John and Paul were off to the side, coloring.

"You look rough," Mal said.

"I know."

Brian took a seat on the sofa. He looked at Ritchie, curled up in Mal's arms. He wasn't sleeping, but he was drowsy and his eyes drooped as though he was waiting for his body to shut down for sleep.

"Remember how Dr. Samwise said another kid was going to be sick by the end of the day?" Mal asked. "He wasn't feeling well at lunch."

"Christ." Brian leaned down and felt Ritchie's forehead. It felt cool. He cupped the poor boy's face in his hands.

"He doesn't have a fever," Mal said.

"How's George?"

The toddler in question was on the floor in front of them, sitting up and drinking apple juice. He looked okay but still a little wilted.

"He's doing pretty good," Mal said. "He ate a little lunch, and a little snack. He doesn't feel as warm as before."

"Thank you."

Brian reached to touch George's forehead. He  _did_ feel less warm than that morning, and appeared more chipper. His eyes were bright as he looked up to Brian, grinning past his sippy cup. Brian smiled back. He imagined after a good night's sleep, he would be almost back to normal. Hopefully, his fever would break during the night, and he could play with his brothers again.

Brian leaned back into the sofa, unwilling to sit up any longer. His back muscles were too knotted to let him relax completely. He looked to Paul and John. John was instructing Paul on what colors to use where, and Paul was obeying, considering John superior in coloring (possibly because he could stay in the lines the best out of all the boys).

"How are they?" Brian asked, gesturing to them.

"They're fine as far as I can tell. I kept them away from George as much as I could. They've kept quiet this afternoon. A little rowdy at lunch. "

Brian closed his eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"Really? You're capable of taking care of four boys - two of them sick - in your state?"

Ritchie coughed into Mal's collar. The man didn't even flinch.

"You're going to get sick," Brian said.

"I never get sick," Mal said.

Brian scowled.

"Unlike you," Mall continued. "Who lets stress get to him way too much."

"I'm a very stressed man."

"Didn't your mother tell you that if you kept making that face, it would get stuck and you would have worry lines for the rest of your life?"

Brian was suddenly conscious of his furrowed, tilted brow. He straightened out his face and cleared his throat.

"Let me have Ritchie," he said.

"And interrupt our cuddling?"

Brian nodded. Ritchie, upon hearing the request, reached up for Brian.

Mal lifted Ritchie on Brian's lap. The little boy immediately wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face into his chest.

"Feeling yucky?" Brian asked.

Ritchie nodded.

"I never thought," Mal laughed. "That you would ever say 'yucky' in your entire life."

"Leave us alone."

Brian tucked Ritchie's head under his chin. He stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. The worst thing he ever had to endure, he realized, was watching his kids be sick. Not even telling his parents that he was homosexual was so nerve-wracking (or... perhaps Brian was exaggerating his current predicament. At least colds went away with time.)

Brian closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of having the baby in his arms.

"I'll watch them if you want to get more rest," Mal offered.

"You don't have to."

"We just went through this. You can't do this alone. Nobody is meant to do this alone. Haven't you heard the phrase 'it takes a village to raise to raise a child'? Think of what it takes to raise four children."

"The entirety of England?"

" _And_ some of Wales."

Brian pondered just how much of Wales would be needed, and if Wales and England were to have joint custody. It would be a pain having to move the boys across the border every other week so Wales could take care of them. Or maybe it would just be the armed forces, as people typically meant the military instead of a whole nation when it came to political matters. Of course, children shouldn't be considered a political matter. Brian would be more comfortable seeing civilians with the boys rather than the ones in uniform. He knew what  _those_ men were actually capable of.

His thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream from the other side of the room. John was standing over Paul, a crayon held over his head. Paul sat on the floor, wailing and reaching up for the crayon. Brian couldn't imagine what had had happened. John had such a temper some days, and it was probably for the best that Brian never learn about who did what wrong according to them.

"Boys!" Mal yelled.

Ritchie whined and buried deeper into Brian's chest, pressing his hands to his ears.

"I know, I know," Brian soothed, feeling his head explode from all the noise.

Then, there was more crying. George below them had dropped his sippy cup in his distress and was sobbing like he always did when the others fought. Brian twisted himself around to grab George (not too gently, he regretted) and held back another groan when his joints moved more than what they wanted to.

"Come on, now," he sighed, settling George on his lap next to Ritchie. They both didn't exactly fit, but it at least allowed them both to hold on to Brian. "It's alright. It's just your silly brothers being trouble."

Mal held Paul under his arm and scolded John. While Paul screamed, John looked on the verge of tears for being punished. Mal carried Paul into the kitchen and sat him in his booster seat, where he couldn't get down.

"Shh… Shh…" Brian tried soothing the boys on his lap.

Mal picked up John and set him in the corner of the kitchen. Brian couldn't hear what Mal was telling him, but he saw him turn him around to face the wall. It was a tactic that Brian had to use before - mostly on John. He was obviously going to become a troublemaker, Brian realized.

"Go back to bed," Mal said, turning around. "Calm them down up there."

Brian pressed his lips in a thin line and stood with each boy on a hip. He made it a few steps before he had to set Ritchie down with a moan he couldn't hold back.

"Can you walk for me?" Brian asked.

Ritchie, sniffling and rubbing teary eyes, nodded and grabbed Brian's hand. Brian struggled to carry George, unhook the gate, and walk up the stairs with the two boys. He longed to lay down.

He tucked Ritchie into his bed and quieted George. He laid him down next to Ritchie, who calmed as soon as they were away from the chaos, and made a poor attempt at a baby massage. It worked, though, and George stopped crying under Brian's gentle hands. He blinked lazily at Brian.

"Here we go," Brian said, setting George in his crib. "Go to sleep."

He crawled into his own bed next to Ritchie. He pulled the boy into his arms and they pressed together.

"Goodnight, B'yan."

"Goodnight, Ritchie."

The body felt perfect in his arms, as if he was cuddling a stuffed animal. He couldn't imagine missing out on this feeling if he had let his worries and cowardness get in the way of him taking in the boys. He couldn't imagine there being a sorry day despite all the hell he was going to have to go through.

Brian fell asleep, surrounded by the baby smell of Ritchie and the soft snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: On that old game show, What's My Line, Brian was a guest and the panel contestants - other celebrities - had to guess who he was based on questions they asked him. It took almost no time before they knew he was an impresario, and the last person on the panel, an older gentleman, said, "Are you associated with a group of successful young men called The Beatles?" and the game was over.
> 
> He asked later on, when they were discussing how Brian discovered the boys, "Do you ever feel a little sorry about the whole thing?"
> 
> Brian, polite as ever, didn't say anything but had a tight, forced, smile and looked away. The host made a joke on his behalf.
> 
> Another contestant, an older woman, said, "But they're such darlings. They're so sweet and funny and cute."
> 
> Brian responded, laughing happily, "There aren't any sorry moments."
> 
> It's on youtube if you feel like looking it up.


	10. September, 1955 (VII)

September, 1955

_Sunday_

The room was full of reds and oranges. The window sprayed the sun's last rays over the room, creating a peaceful glow of mixing colors.

Brian sat up and leaned over Ritchie, who was waking up from his own feverish sleep. Brian stroked the boy's brow to the sound of gentle cooing coming from the crib. Ritchie's cheeks matched the colors that danced across the walls and burned under Brian's fingers.

"Let's hope no one else gets sick," Brian whispered to himself.

George sat up and made a pattern of babbles that meant he wanted his foster father. Brian slowly rose and picked the toddler up from out of the crib. He had been used to the littlest one not using his name and understanding when he was needed.

"Can you say 'Brian'?" he asked. "Or 'B'yan'?"

George didn't open his mouth. He held on to Brian's collarv.

"'Bi'?" Brian tried prompting once more.

But George was not interested in learning botched English.

Brian pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. He couldn't imagine tiny bodies feeling the way he did. He wanted to sleep forever under a hundred blankets. He wanted to escape the malaise with hibernation.

A knock on the door made Brian break his embrace.

Mal peaked his head in. "Dinner's ready."

"We'll be down," Brian said, brushing George's messy hair with his fingers.

Mal examined Brian. "How are you all feeling?"

"George is feeling better, I think. He doesn't feel as feverish as before. I think he's on the mend."

"And you and Ritchie feel worse?"

Brian nodded. "Ritchie's pretty warm."

"Maybe eating will help. You haven't eaten since breakfast, have you?"

Brian shook his head.

"Well, come along. I already have John and Paul seated, and God knows what they'll get into if we leave them alone too long."

Brian chuckled. "I'll take George if you take Ritchie."

Mal scooped Ritchie up from the bed and cradled him in his arms as they walked out. Brian wished he could carry the boys like that instead of on his hips. If only they were a little smaller, or Brian a bit bigger, they would fit perfectly nestled against his chest. The strain of carrying George on his hips still made his entire body scream. With each step he was closer to toppling over.

"Thank you so much for doing this," he said as they sat at the table.

"I've told you, it's no big deal," Mal said, getting Ritchie situated. "You would do the same for me."

"But I hate taking you away from Lily."

"Lily loves having me out of the house - so long as it's not at a club. She thinks it's cute that I'm helping you with the boys."

"Maybe she thinks this is good practice," Brian teased.

Mal smirked. "I wouldn't be opposed to a few kids someday."

"If they ever get sick, call me."

Mal shook his head with a chuckle. He helped Ritchie take a few sips of juice when the little boy appeared still too sleepy to grab his cup on his own.

"That'll all be some time from now." Mal looked at the boys, eating half of their dinner and smearing the rest on their faces and clothes. "Can we have some of yours? They're housebroken already."

Brian laughed. "I'm too fond of these ones to part with them. Maybe the next batch. We'll see who else comes along."

They laughed, but it was hollow.

They both knew the impermanence of the boys. They knew that they could be gone as soon as they got there, but there was no way to acknowledge the fact anymore without forced laughter. To actually address their fears would be going a step back in the anxiety.

Their laughter faded, and the silence didn't feel foreign.

* * *

Brian gave George a little privacy that night. He went to the bathroom to take his temperature, away from the other boys, while Mal took Ritchie's temperature by the mouth in the living room.

"Just one more degree," Brian told George. "And you'll be fine."

He cleaned the thermometer off and placed it on the sink, feeling drained after such a simple task. He pushed on, though, and began to redress George.

Mal walked in as Brian was buttoning up the front of George's onesie.

"Ritchie's temperature is just over 38 and a half," he said, beginning to clean off the thermometer.

"George's temp is down," Brian said. "It's almost norm -"

He quickly turned away to cough. He hung his head, feeling even more fatigued. He tried to catch his breath as his lungs recovered from their most recent abuse. They burned and couldn't get enough air no matter how hard he breathed.

A thermometer was shoved in his mouth before he could compose himself.

"Mal," he mumbled.

"Don't talk. There's no way you don't have a fever."

Brian glared, but kept the thermometer in place. He was aware that his cheeks held a flush, and he felt chilled in a jumper. He didn't want Mal to know, though. He didn't feel right out of a suit with his hair out of place, let alone sitting in a bathroom floor having his temperature checked by Mal.

He felt like a child.

"Just about the same as Ritchie," Mal said, examining the thermometer. "Close to 39."

Brian didn't say anything. He just glared at Mal with the hardest (and very impressive) stare he could.

"Who's going to take care of you if you don't?"

Brian didn't back down.

"John and Paul are almost ready for bed," Mal went on, cleaning up. "I can take care of the boys tonight if you want to relax."

Brian broke his glare. He nodded.

"Don't let them rope you into more than one bedtime story."

"But I'm easily convinced. You know that."

"For the sake of everyone in the house, be a cold bastard tonight."

"Brian! That language in front of George?" Mal looked completely scandalized.

"He can't even say my name yet. He'll be fine if I swear in front of him once."

Mal shook his head. "Being sick makes you grouchy."

Brian rubbed his face. Mal wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. The past hour had been hell and put his on his last nerve. He had bathed George and Ritchie in lukewarm water against their wishes, rose his voice more than once, and then tried comforting them on the sofa until their brothers were washed.

He had left Mal to deal with Paul and John as he had no energy to do so himself and dreaded the thought of passing the illness along to them. He couldn't deal with two more sick kids. That would have been too much for everyone.

"Ready for bed?" Brian asked George, pushing aside Mal's observation.

The toddler seemed wide awake. He had laid on his back but had not bothered to sit up. Brian poked his nose. George giggled, smiled a gummy smile, and reached for Brian's finger.

"I think that's a no," Mal said.

"George?" Brian talked in his baby voice. "Ready for sleep? Feeling sleepy?"

George shook his head and turned his attention to Brian's hand.

"Maybe when he lies down, he'll keep quiet," Mal suggested. "And eventually put himself to sleep."

"It's worth a shot."

Birna picked up George and carefully stood. He grimaced.

"Why do you keep making that face when you pick up one of the boys?" Mal asked.

"What face?" Brian schooled his features. "Do you mind getting -"

Mal picked up the towel that was under George and put it in the nearly full hamper.

"Did you hurt yourself? I thought you shouldn't have been carrying more than one boy at once, but I didn't want to say anything."

"No. I'm just sore. And I'm capable of carrying two boys at once. I'm not that weak. They don't weigh that much."

"Whatever you say," Mal said.

They walked out of the bathroom and into the sitting room. All of the boys were in their pajamas and now waited for their bedtime story. Ritchie sat on the sofa, swallowed in a blanket too big for him. John and Paul sat on either side of him, trying to provide a little comfort. Paul stroked his hair, and John tried to make him laugh. They succeeded in getting a little smile.

Mal grabbed Ritchie to the disappointment of John and Paul.

"You don't want to get sick as well," Brian told them.

John glared at Mal. Paul was too transfixed on George to care about the excuse.

"Joj!"

He reached out for the little boy.

Brian assumed he was going through some withdrawal not having his younger brother by his side for the past week. They were always with each other.

George reached for Paul, but Brian had to pull him away. They both whined, and Paul crossed his arms with a fierce pout. Brian shared a look with Mal.

"I think if George would have given him something, he would have already," Brian said.

Mal shrugged but didn't look like he disagreed. He sat on one of the chairs adjacent with the sofa and wrapped Ritchie tighter in the blanket.

George happily accepted the seat in between John and Paul. He was immediately caught in a hug by Paul.

"Do you boys want a drink while you hear your story?" Brian asked.

They nodded eagerly. John clutched his dog closer to his chest and whispered to it - probably repeating the question.

Brian smiled and left for the drinks. He pulled out their preferred cups and crushed aspirin for George and Ritchie. He knew the juices they liked and that John would drink milk over juice.

He had to wonder if he would have been a skilled bartender. He could remember drinks, he thought as he took a couple aspirin for himself. Ritchie liked grape; Paul liked apple; George would drink just about anything, but he preferred to match one of his brothers' drinks.

"You boys can have one story," Brian told them, as he did every night.

"And I'll read it this time," Mal said.

The boys looked excited for the change.

"Do you want to pick out your book now?" Brian asked.

John sat his dog aside, leaving it to protect his sippy cup and perched carefully so he could have a drink of milk if John's imagination dictated so. Paul held George's hands as he slid off the sofa and reclaimed his cup from the cushions.

Ritchie, sadly, only sat on Mal's lap, being prompted to drink. Brian wanted to comfort him as well, but he knew Mal was handling it and his chest was beginning to spasm again.

He coughed harshly into his jumper sleeve. His eyes watered, and his throat was beginning to burn from the re-occurring fits. When he looked up, Mal was staring with a furrowed brow - a near perfect impression of Brian.

"Do you know what my mother would tell you right now?" Brian asked.

"Do you know what your mother would tell  _you_ right now?"

Brian ignored the question. "She would say your face will stick like that."

* * *

_Tuesday_

"How are you all doing?"

Brian kept his phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder as he flipped through his paperwork.

"Better," he said. "George is playing with Paul and John. His fever's been gone since Monday morning. Ritchie's taking a nap, but his temperature was down this morning."

"Good. And how are you?"

"Honestly, I feel fine."

"Eppy."

"No. I truly do."

"I'll take your word for it - but only because I know what your definition of 'fine' is."

Brian's definition of fine was capable of sitting up, reading paperwork, and seeing the line where he needed to sign. But, hey, he had been shaving. That was well-past his standards.

"Thank you," Brian said. "How's the shop?"

"Quiet. It's been a slow day."

Brian hummed. He flipped over a paper and scribbled his signature.

"What's the date?" he asked.

"The 29th."

"So tomorrow is the last -" Brian stopped with his pen centimeters away from the paper. "Christ."

"What's wrong  _now,_ Eppy?"

"John's birthday is in a week."

Brian looked to the little boy, oblivious as he built a castle out of blocks.

"That's exciting!" Mal said. "I hope everyone is in better health by then."

John placed another block on the walls of the ever-expanding building. Paul worked on the length, lining up a seemingly endless train of blocks. George played with a single block, unmotivated to help.

"I think I should be feeling a sort of nostalgia," Brian said.

"For when? A month ago?"

"It's been an eventful month," Brian said, his eyes catching another paper for a newly released album.

Mal laughed. "I'll leave you to your nostalgia. I'll see you this evening."

Brian hummed in his acknowledgement, though he didn't hear. He was back to flipping through his papers. Working at the least kept his mind off his pains from his cold. He couldn't tell he was congested or that his throat still had a little tickle. He could work to distract himself until he was over the whole thing.

"Mal, can you do me one favor?" he asked.

There was no response. Brian frowned when he realized the line was dead and sat the phone on the receiver.

He walked the phone back to its rightful place on the chest of drawers. Perhaps he should be more aware during phone conversations. People tended to hang up without knowing… and there was a possibility children could get into trouble.

Brian spun around to look at his boys. Paul and John continued to play. George had moved on to another block. Ritchie had woken up and was watching Brian. The eyes were what tugged on his heartstrings. Blue and mournful… he had to sit with the boy.

"Did you have a good nap?" Brian asked.

Ritchie nodded and leaned into Brian's chest. Brian felt his forehead. It was a little less warm than that morning, but not exactly where Brian had anticipated it being the night before.

"Do you want a snack?" he asked.

Ritchie nodded.

Brian left Ritchie in his blanket cocoon.

In the kitchen, he recruited the help of John and Paul to carry the spoons and sippy cups out to the sitting room. They handed a spoon to George and Ritchie, and then to each other. With a little help from Brian, they decoded what cup went to who.

"Thank you, boys," Brian said as they all settled in the living room.

He watched them try to spoon the applesauce into their mouths and desperately wished they still wore bibs. At least George still accepted his help and didn't whine when Brian took his spoon to scoop the applesauce on his chin back into his mouth.

"John," he said when he saw the boy out of the corner of his eye. "We don't use our hands."

John pulled his fingers out of his mouth. Brian grabbed a napkin off the coffee table and knelt down in front of John and Paul. He smiled as he wiped off John's horrifically messy hand.

Now was as good of a time as any to tell him.

"Do you know what happens in nine days?" he asked.

"No."

"It's your birthday!"

John's eyes lit up. "When's nine days?"

Brian set the napkin aside. He carefully straightened up and felt the muscles in his back protest.

"Let's go look."

He offered his hand to John, and Paul took the opportunity to join George and Ritchie on the sofa.

Brian pressed his lips together and held his breath before bending down to lift John over the chest of drawers. He found that routine to be the best to deal with the initial pain. They looked at the calendar.

"The is today," Brian said, pointing to the date and flipping the page. "And this is your birthday. See how close it is?"

John nodded, beaming. Brian set him on the floor and sat down to look at him eye-to-eye.

"You only have to go to bed nine more times before you're four."

"Ritchie's four!" John shouted, bouncing.

Brian nodded. "You'll be the same age for a little bit."

John took off for the sofa. He clambered on top of it to sit next to his older brother.

Brian listened to the excited conversation, leaning against the drawers. The boys - with the exception of George, who went along eating his applesauce - abandoned their bowls to join in the excitement. It was overlapping, nearly-intelligible words flying across the room. Brian could work out only a few sentences and did not notice when they jumped to a new topic.

Brian coughed into his sleeve. Drawer handles and sharp edges dug into his back as his body spasmed. His head felt exceptionally congested when the small fit was stopped. Looking back to the boys, he noticed how close they all were to one another.

Brian closed his eyes and prayed that everything would go alright for the next week. Just for John's first birthday in his care. Just so he wouldn't need to be any more overwhelmed or disappoint his boy.

 


	11. October, 1955 (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A new month!! And… I’m realizing I fucked up big time with the ages. George should be two months older. I am so bad at math. I can’t really think of a way to fix this without disrupting everything except to tell you guys to take the ages with a grain of salt, and they should be righted in February, 1956. 
> 
> So, roughly:  
> Ringo -- 4 years, 3 months; John -- 4 years; Paul -- 2 years, 4 months; George -- 1 year, 6 months (18 months)
> 
> Also, it's John Lennon's and Sean Lennon's birthday!!!! Yay!!! It was the perfect initiative to get this chapter up (even though this chapter didn't turn out as good as I wanted it to be). The next chapter will be up by Halloween.

October 9, 1955

_Saturday_

“Goodnight,” Brian whispered to Ritchie.

“G’night,” Ritchie said.

The boy had just gotten over his illness. The night the fever broke was triumphant, but he still tired easily the following days. His body was spent after fighting off his cold, Dr. Samwise had told Brian, and it would be a while before he would be up to his usual energy. The same had happened to George, and the boys would take extra naps together and fall asleep quickly after being tucked in at night.

Ritchie rubbed his eyes and curled up with his stuffed bear. Brian ruffled the top of his head.

George was already sleeping, looking as adorable as he could. Paul was -- for perhaps the first time ever -- falling asleep without a fight. Brian smiled as he passed their cribs.

“Do you know what happens tomorrow?” he asked, bending over John’s bed.

John smiled and nodded. “I’m four!”

Brian tucked the sheets around his chest. “When you wake up, you’ll be like Ritchie. And, you can eat cake and have presents.”

Brian didn’t know it was possible for John’s eyes to light up even more, as they had held an eager shine the entire day, but they did. He regretted reminding John of his birthday at bedtime. How was he supposed to get the kid asleep now?

“But you need to sleep first,” Brian said.

John shook his head and kicked his legs. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Just close your eyes --”

John did so.

“ -- And lay still. Don’t think about your birthday. Think about something else. Like kittens.”

“I like kittens,” John whispered.

“What kind of kittens?”

John pressed his lips together in thought. “Grey ones.”

“With white feet?”

John nodded.

“And soft fur?”

John nodded again.

"And what do those kittens do?"

"They drink milk, and they play with strings, and they sleep in my bed."

"Do they purr?"

"Yeah."

John seemed to be relaxed. His breathing was getting slower, and his hands were loosely wrapped around his dog.

“Think about those kittens,” Brian said. “Goodnight.”

“G’night,” John whispered back.

Brian turned off the light, left the door ajar, and walked down to the kitchen.

He probably shouldn't have been drinking so much immediately after putting the boys to sleep or after getting over a cold. On the other hand, he hadn't had much time to drink since the boys had moved to his care, and he was itching for one. It made cleaning a little more bearable -- and the house had become disastrous over the past few weeks. At this point, a drink was well-needed. Two was deserved.

Dishes were done by 8:30. Toys were picked up by 9:00. Laundry was washed, folded, and waiting in a basket in the sitting room by 10:45. Brian’s third glass of brandy was downed at 10:50.

He checked on the boys before going to bed, falling asleep relaxed and content.

* * *

 

Cake was everywhere.

The boys were bouncing in their seats, hands and faces covered in icing and pastry. George had tried recreating a Picasso painting and had his food smeared on every inch of his highchair.

“I have nothing against art,” Mal said, wiping George’s hands. “But I think the work would look better on a different canvas.”

“You know how art is getting nowadays,” David said. “It’s all abstract. People splash paint around on a wall and say it represents the chaos in our society.”

Brian laughed. Sarah shook her head.

"Don't encourage him," she whispered to Brian.

He couldn't help it. He had begun to find David's bitter sense of humour funny.

“What are you trying to say with this piece, Mr. Harrison?” Mal asked. “That food should be appreciated for more than its nutrition?”

“More cake,” George said.

Mal nodded. “I see.”

“No more cake, George,” Sarah said. “Time to get clean.”

Brian wiped at John’s face. John crawled into his lap, smearing food onto Brian’s suit. He cringed inwardly. Suits could be cleaned. Children didn't know any better.

“Are you having a good birthday?” Brian asked.

John nodded. His eyes were bright.

“I'm 4,” he said.

Brian nodded. “That’s right. And 4-year-olds need to get clean after they make a mess."

Brian grabbed another napkin and worked on John's hands.

"Did you get any in your mouth?" he asked. "Did you use a fork?"

John nodded. Brian shook his head and smiled. He reached for another napkin.

* * *

"I remember when he was a baby," Sarah said.

She watched Mal and David with the boys in the living room. Her eyes were watery, but she smiled. Her hands fidgeted on the kitchen table.

"He was so small. He was the first one of the four we got, you know."

Brian wrapped his hands around the cup of coffee in his palm. He nodded.

"And, of course, you know all the trouble he had at first. He was in and out of foster care. Eventually, his own family couldn't keep taking him back. It was so hard for him at that age. Just learning to say 'mama' but no one to say it to.

"He's grown so much since. He was so small..."

Sarah wiped at the tears starting to drip from her eyes.

"Now look at him. He's about to start school... He turned _4._ Soon he'll be going to university like the others we've had."

"That won't be for years now," Brian said.

He felt a slight lump in his throat and considered school for himself. It seemed like it had been over so quickly. His official discharge from the army felt like it was a week ago. Now, he had kids. Maybe -- and he prayed not -- time would go as fast for John.

"Years are so short," Sarah said.

She sniffled. Brian patted her hand, letting his fingers rest against hers.

"I remember when he was just George's age and we got Ritchie. He was possessive of David and I -- _very_ possessive." Sarah smiled and looked to the boys, curled against David and Mal for a story. "He didn't want anything to do with Ritchie for the first few weeks. Ritchie would cry and cry. We were afraid we would lose one if they didn't get along. Finally, one day, John came around. I'll never understand his sudden change of heart. But one day we left them alone for two seconds, and John was all over Ritchie."

"As close as they are now?"

"Almost. It took a while longer before they became inseparable. Then, we got Paul, and he was the baby. The boys adored having a little brother. Paul was so spoiled... still is, I suppose. They all are."

Brian smiled. "They're loved."

"They are. Very lucky, too. Foster children sometimes aren't."

David was in the middle of telling the boys a scary story. John and Ritchie were against his sides, eyes wide and mouths agape. Paul and George curled up together in Mal's lap, a protective arm around them.

"You're not frightening them too much, are you?" Sarah called.

The boys jumped at the sudden raised voice. David didn't even look to his wife to respond.

"No! They're fine."

Mal laughed and pulled George and Paul closer.

"They're tough, aren't you, boys?" David added.

They all turned to Brian and Sarah, nodding.

"We aren't the ones putting them to bed tonight, David," Sarah said.

"They'll be fine!"

Sarah shook her head and turned back to Brian. He shrugged.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," he said. "I'll leave a light on tonight."

Sarah chuckled. "If you say so."

* * *

_They're asleep, and I can drink._

Brian poured himself a glass of whiskey.

It took the boys longer than usual to settle down and fall asleep. They at least handled Sarah and David leaving well. There were no tears or long hugs. They said goodbye and were carried to bed.

The whiskey burned his throat, warmed his body, and he poured another drink.

The boys were so precious. They fell asleep collapsed on one another in the middle of the living room. George didn't even wake up when he was put in his crib. Brian had cradled him in his arms and held him close to his chest. The little bodies fit so well against him.

"Happy birthday," he had whispered to John, who was clutching his old dog in favor of it instead of his new cat that laid abandoned at the foot of his bed. "I'll see you in the morning."

"G'night," John mumbled.

His eyes closed, and the others were already fast asleep. Perhaps it was a sugar crash or the busy day that knocked them out, but Brian was surprised by how early they all fell asleep.

The house was eerily quiet without them running around.

Brian drained his second glass.

He could easily turn on the tv or the radio without waking the boys. Or he could sit in silence and think about his boys for a bit longer and go to sleep himself.

The glass was washed and placed with the others. The whiskey bottle, nearly empty, was locked away with a mental note to buy more. Brian walked up the stairs, peeking in on his little boys once more.


	12. October, 1955 (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!!! A reviewer actually gave me this idea on fnafiction.net.

**October 31, 1955**

"Oh, a little kitten!"

Paul was loving the attention. Almost every woman that had passed the counter immediately noticed him, sitting next to the register, in his cat costume. They awed over him and one of Brian's friends even streaked a bit of eyeliner on his cheeks to make whiskers and dabbed a bit of blush on his nose.

"Now you look even more like a pussy cat," she had told him as he beamed at the new addition to his costume, which was originally a black sweater and trousers, and a pair of cat ears with a tail sewn on his butt.

After Paul put on a small show of batting his "paws" or letting out a small roar, they would melt. Then, they would notice George in his sheet cloak and awe over the ghost.

George was less interested in the attention. He only wanted to eat the candy that was somehow constantly appearing in his hands (Brian blamed both Mal and Paul). The women would coo and baby talk to him, and he would simply smile around the sweets.

They would eventually stumble upon Ritchie and John, who were entertaining themselves in the rows of vinyls. They would tell Sherlock Holmes and the lion how cute they looked. Someone also made up Ritchie's face to mimic a lion's, and Ritchie was ecstatic when he saw himself in the mirror. He tried roaring as well, but it sounded more like mewls that were appropriate for Paul's costume.

Keeping track of the kids wasn't easy, but the halloween party was going as planned, and no albums in the shop had been broken yet. Everything had been safely pushed to the perimeters of the store, but there were still places for the boys to hide. Ritchie and John could be heard above the music occasionally, giggling in their little crook.

Brian had gotten a few snarky comments about exposing the boys to the music currently playing, but he brushed it off with equally snarky comments about what his job was. Mal gave him approving nods before hunting for Ritchie and John once again.

Brian stood off to the side, as he usually did at parties. Paul and George kept him entertained, and he had them help decide which album he should play next. They really enjoyed listening to the music they had barely been exposed to.

"They're so adorable.”

He spun around to see a brunette woman with modest makeup and clothing. He didn't know who she was except that she came with his friend Cindy.

He smiled at her.

"You and your wife must have your hands full," she said.

Brian fumbled. "Oh... I'm not married actually… The boys don't have a mother.”

The woman looked up from Paul with a sympathetic expression.

"I'm sorry. I didn't --"

Brian shook his head. "No, what I mean is -- I've never been married," he said with a laugh. “They're foster children.”

The woman laughed, too, more out of embarrassment than anything. "You raise them all by yourself?"

Brian nodded. "Well, I have help from friends, but... essentially, yes. It's just the five of us."

The woman smiled. "I love it when men know how to take care of children. You don't really meet a lot of men like you. Someone willing to foster so many boys all alone.

Brian shrugged. He had a vague idea of where the conversation was going and didn't exactly want to continue it. He busied himself with wiping George's incredibly messy face with a handkerchief.  

"Where are you getting all these sweets?" Brian mumbled.

The woman giggled. He might as well humor her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't think I ever got your name."

"Samantha."

"I'm Brian." He held out a hand. She took it. "The kitten is Paul, and this... sticky mess is George."

Brian went back to trying to clean George. The little boy whined and protested, and did so even harder when he saw Brian lick the handkerchief.

"Do you need help?" Samantha asked.

Brian handed her the handkerchief.

"George, you need to get all cleaned up before you can have any more sweets," she said.

George tried turning his head away when she began wiping his face, but calmed after he realized she was much more gentle than Brian.

"There we go," Samantha said.

The handkerchief was covered in chocolate and artificial dye stained drool. Brian could say goodbye to that one.

"Don't you feel better?" she asked.

George shook his head.

Paul asked for the handkerchief after Samantha handed it back to Brian. When he got it, he tried mimicking the adults and went at George's face with more force than the kid could handle.

George whined and swatted at Paul. Paul threw the cloth to the floor and crossed his arms in a pout. Tears began to fill his doe eyes. To avoid a scene, Brian wrapped his arms around the toddler in a loving hug. When Paul relaxed into his side, he knew he could let go and stroke George's cheek where Paul had wiped.

“Thank you for trying,” he said to Paul. “But you have to be a little gentler with him.”

The toddler nodded. He reached out for George's hand.

"Oh," Samantha said, putting a hand to her chest. "You're so good with them."

Brian shrugged. "It's all experience.”

 _Experience of only a few months_ , Brian thought with an internal scoff.

“A cuddle usually calms them down,” he said.

"Where are the others?"

"Somewhere. People are keeping an eye on them. I'm not too concerned --"

As if on queue, there was a loud thud. Everyone looked around and Mal knew immediately where to go. He bent down behind one of the album racks and picked up the boys. They looked startled, especially when they saw Brian looking directly at them.

Ritchie tugged on his lion's mane, pulling it over his eyes. John made direct eye contact with Brian and clung to Mal.

Mal walked them over to the counter and sat them down.

"What did you do?" Brian asked.

Ritchie tugged his mane even further down. John kicked his legs over the counter.

"Something dropped," John said.

"Oh really? Is it ok?" Brian asked.

John shrugged.

"I don't think anything broke," Mal said. "They were stacking the boxes from under the counters. Nothing important should have been in them."

"Sorry," Ritchie mumbled.

"Sorry," John said.

"It's alright. You boys are forgiven. Just be careful from now on. We don't want anything to break."

Brian pulled up Ritchie's mane to reveal his worrying blue eyes.

"You're not in trouble," he said.

Ritchie smiled sheepishly. He reached up and Brian wrapped him in his arms. Samantha looked almost ready to melt.

"Why don't you boys go play somewhere together?" Brian asked. “And be a little more careful?”  

They were set on the floor and let loose to find a new place.

"This is my friend Mal. He helps with the boys " Brian said. "And this is Samantha. She's a friend of Cindy."

“Hello.” Mal held out his hand. She shook it.

“Hello.”

“We were discussing the boys,” Brian said.

“We were actually discussing how good Brian is with them. The five of them are just too cute,” Samantha said.

“Yes, they are,” Mal said.

Brian gave him a painfully awkward look.

“The boys really are adorable,” Mal said. “You should see the four of them together. They're like brothers.”

Brian turned around to George and Paul as the conversation continued. They played with small pumpkins Brian had brought to decorate the shop. He had allowed the boys to decorate four of them earlier that week (a mistake as most of the paint ended up on them rather than the pumpkins).

“Do you boys want to play with Ritchie and John?” he asked them.

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“Alright.”

He helped them off the counter and fixed their costumes that became a little unkempt since the beginning of the evening.

“I'll be back,” he told Mal and Samantha.

Samantha opened her mouth, perhaps trying to protest, but didn't have time as Brian walked away and Mal continued talking.

Brian escorted the toddlers to the others. Paul roared at Ritchie, who giggled and tried mimicking him. The two giggled and roared and held their hands up, curling their fingers in an imitation of claws.

Brian laughed with them and sat down to watch them play.

John curled up on his lap. Brian righted his deerstalker and wrapped his arms around him.

He looked to his left and noticed Mal and Samantha looking at him. Mal still talked, but Samantha stared longingly.

Brian shrugged. He moved his hands to John's shoulder and mouthed: “I'm stuck.”

 

* * *

 

The party calmed and people began to say their farewells. Brian didn't know what time he wanted to send the boys home. Mal and Lily had already offered to close the shop if Brian needed to get them to bed.

Brian eventually left them alone. They were quiet, probably tired, and hidden behind a counter. Adults periodically checked on them, but they had stayed out of trouble.

Brian relaxed against the door when the last people left.

"Brian," Lily whipsered. "Come here."

He met her at the counter the boys played behind. She smiled down at them. George was sound asleep, curled on the floor, chocolate smeared around his mouth. Paul dozed next to him with a protective arm on his shoulder. John and Ritchie played quietly with their little toy cars they had brought along for the party.

"How sweet," Brian said.

He knelt in front of them and carefully pulled them apart.

"I'll take George," Mal whispered.

"I have Paul."

Paul buried his face into Brian's neck. Brian rubbed his back and rocked him slightly.

"Are you ready for bed?” he asked.

Paul didn't respond. His little hands were losing their grip on Brian, and they soon went slack when the boy fell completely asleep.

Mal held George close to his chest.

Lily helped Ritchie and John put their coats on. She urged Ritchie to let go of his toy so she could get his arm in his sleeve.

“Are you boys tired?” Lily asked them.

“No,” John said.

“Yes,” Ritchie said.

She tucked George's and Paul's coats around their shoulders, careful not to disturb them.

“Who was that bird earlier this evening?” Mal asked.

Brian looked up from the sleeping child. Mal smirked.

“There was a girl?” Lily asked.

“She was a friend of a friend,” Brian said. “She was no one important.”

“If you say so.” Lily shrugged, smirking.

She grabbed the hands of Ritchie and John.

“She was pretty,” Mal told her. “And I think Brian noticed.”

“Did you notice?” Lily raised her eyebrows playfully.

“Of course not!”

Lily turned away from her husband. “Did you get her number, Brian?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I didn't need it. I wouldn't call her.”

“Will she call you?”

“I hope not.”

Lily clicked her tongue.

John and Ritchie were watching the adults but the conversation nearly went over their heads.

“B’yan,” Ritchie mumbled.

Brian stopped glaring at his friends and looked down at his boy. “Yes?”

“Can we go home now?” he asked.

Brian smiled. “I think that's a perfect idea.”

The air was cold, and the ground was covered in orange and red. Damp leaves piled against the sides of buildings and along curbs. Tiny hands tried grabbing them through thick mittens and throwing them at an equally tiny face.

“John, don't do that!”

Wind froze ears and reddened noses. The few seconds from door to car woke Paul with a whine. Warm, big arms covered him and maneuvered him to a car seat away from the whipping air.

Headlights shone on the road. Few appeared in the rear view window. Quiet humming came from the back seat until it slowly stopped with drowsiness curled up with the company of four.

  
  
  



	13. December, 1955 (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure when it starts snowing in Northern England. I tried doing research, but it varied greatly. Some people said December, some said November. I didn't know. I live in one of the most climatically unstable places in America, so my understanding of weather is a bit shaky in the first place.
> 
> Also, it's getting hard to write this because every time I have to look something up about Brian, I get so distracted by this man. I love him.
> 
> Ages: Ringo - 4 years, 5 months; John - 4 years, 2 months; Paul - 2 years, 6 months; George - 1 year, 8 months (20 months)

December, 1955

Brian woke to faint yelling. He rubbed his eyes and looked to his clock. It was too early for him to be up. It was too early for one of the boys to be awake.

He laid in bed for a minute more, hoping whichever boy it was would tired himself out or give up. He forced himself up when he realized it was actually a terrible plan.

Brian stumbled through the hall, unsure which foot went when or where, and opened the bedroom door on the other end.

George stood in his crib, shaking the bars and yelling. He didn't look upset or sick. He stopped immediately when he saw Brian and smiled. His stretched his arms out in front of him, towards his foster father.

 _He thinks he's so innocent,_ Brian thought.

Paul held his hands to his ears and gave the boy a dirty look. John had tried hushing George, standing at his crib and sticking his hands through the bars (apparently it hadn't worked). Ritchie was curled under his covers, not a hair visible.

"What is it, George?" Brian sighed.

He picked up the small boy and patted John's head.

"Go back to sleep," he said to him.

John turned on his heel and returned to his bed in a huff of drama.

George, wide awake and eager to be active, tried bouncing on Brian's hip. The recurring ache residing in his pelvis spiked, and he groaned.

"George, stay still. Please," he said.

George obeyed. He smiled again.

Brian waited until John had laid his head back on the pillow and pulled the cover to his chin to leave the room. They looked at each other as though John completely understood Brian's struggle of having to take care of a child before sunrise.

"We're gonna lay down in my bed," Brian said, walking down the hallway. "And we're going back to sleep."

He made it back to his own bedroom and settled George down before laying next to him. He tried holding the wiggling toddler close. Maybe if they were quiet enough, George would fall back asleep.

Brian had another hour before he had to be wake up. He prayed he would sleep for at least half of that.

But there was no such luck.

His alarm rung after tossing and turning, and he reached over George to turn it off. George, still bright-eyed and grinning, climbed on top of him when he noticed him sitting up.

"Let's get your brothers," he mumbled.

Paul had a wad of blanket in his mouth, soaked from drool. Brian made him open his mouth and discovered teeth budding on swollen gums. He lent his collar to the toddler until he was sitting in his highchair and nibbling on the ear of a stuffed bear picked up from the sofa.

Ritchie and John, bleary-eyed, climbed on their own seats, and George, in a non-unusual giddy mood, bounced in his own high chair.

"Stay still," Brian chided, forcing a smile.

He opened the fridge, and the longest morning in years continued.

* * *

Brian's head was resting on his desk, atop papers. He was partially in sleep, straddling the line between awareness and dreams. He roused at a knock and his secretary's blonde head peaked in.

"Mr. Epstein, you have a visitor," she said

He raised his head and blinked. He could perhaps shoo them away if they weren't important enough.

"Who?" he asked.

"Your father."

Brian straightened like a rod and began fixing his papers and hair.

"Show him in."

Anne slipped out of the room and closed the door. A moment later it opened again, and Brian's father walked through.

Brian stood and adjusted his jacket. He smiled and reached out a hand.

"Good morning," Harry said, shaking his hand like he would a business partner.

"Good morning," Brian said, trying to keep his voice clear.

His father chuckled. He sat down. "Did you not sleep well?"

Brian rubbed his face, taking his own seat again. "It was a long morning. George woke up early, and I couldn't get him back to sleep. Paul's fussy and teething. I had to look for his ring for half an hour, because, after three months of the boys being there, there are still boxes that need unpacked. And Jane was late this morning. It threw off the day's schedule."

Harry nodded, then leaned back in his chair. He didn't say anything for a moment. He only watched his young son.

"Well," he finally said. "I would say you need to start rolling with the punches."

Brian's shoulders drooped. He was expecting sympathy.

"I know how you are," Harry continued. "You have a plan for everything you do. But babies don't stick to any plan."

"I've noticed."

"You'll get to used to it. You'll adapt. " He smiled,more wrinkles appearing around his old, gentle eyes. "When are we going to see them?"

Brian shrugged. "Whenever you wish."

"Your mother is excited. This is the closest she's gotten to having grandkids."

"Well, they're not  _my_   _sons_."

"She knows. She still thinks it counts."

Brian smirked. "I'll have to make them presentable."

He imagined combing their hair and dressing them up. Everyday he strived to make them little gentlemen, but they always managed to mess up their hair and outfits. It was their nature, Brian assumed. Not every child grew up like him, with a desire to be neat and acceptance to being dressed up.

"We'll discuss it later," his father said. "How's business?"

Brian pulled out a folder of papers. He began reciting sales and new inventory. His mind drifted to the boys occasionally. When his father droned on about family business and delivered the same speech Brian heard a hundred times, he would wonder how he was going to get the boys ready to see his parents. They were naturally endearing children. They charmed everyone they met within seconds but could get rowdy. It would take strategic planning.

Brian didn't bring up how the subtle increase in sales the past month had been partly due to him, buying records for the boys (they really did enjoy the music). He allowed his father to beam and congratulate him, afraid that if he confessed he would be met with judgement. Besides, it wasn't as though Brian was the sole reason for the increase.

They discussed new artists and new investments. Brian, again, lost concentration when he thought of the boys' interest in a particular singer. She distracted them well enough when Brian needed both of his hands. He suggested carrying more of her work to Harry, who hummed in response.

"It would be a risk I'd be willing to take," Brian said. "If it doesn't sell, we'll just have to pull it."

"A risk during the holidays?"

"We'll have higher sales regardless."

"Yes, but customers aren't going to buy an album of someone they've never heard of if it's going to be a gift. People this time of year know what they want before they walk in the door."

"The compensation -"

"Will not be enough when we could add a new album of a popular group."

Brian was quiet. He wanted to protest further. Why not give another artist a chance? Why not give an unknown more exposure?

Why not give him more freedom?

Brian pulled more papers from a folder. He ran a hand through his tamed curls.

* * *

To make the day even worse, it was raining when Brian left his office.

Brian had to force his eyes open when he blinked. His hair had lost its manageability and stray curls fell across his forehead. His mouth and nerves begged for a cigarette from the box he finished at lunch.

He pushed open the front door.

Giggles filled the house and a warm glow came from the living room.

Jane sat with Ritchie and John on the floor with Paul in her lap. George laid curled on the chair next to her, by her shoulder, fast asleep.

She looked at Brian when he walked in. She was smiling, her cheeks shining with laughter and her eyes sparkling. Her blonde hair, styled to frame her jaw, was slightly rumpled.

"Long day?" she asked Brian.

She sat Paul on the floor. He gave a babyish whine, but didn't protest any more. He gnawed on his teething ring and continued to watch John and Ritchie play.

"Yes," he said.

She helped him take his coat off.

"How have the boys behaved?" he asked.

"They're all in silly moods," she said, rolling her eyes. "Paul's been a bit fussy with his teeth, and George fell asleep not long ago. He's the heaviest sleeper I've ever seen."

Brian laughed. He walked to George and smiled.

"He's just a bit tired," Sarah said.

"He had an early morning."

Brian felt a small force hit his legs. Ritchie and John held onto his wet trousers.

"John and Ritchie have seem to be compensating for those two, though."

Brian rested his hands on each of their heads. He buried his fingers in their hair. Ritchie scratched his damp face.

"I'm wet," he said. "Maybe we should all hug later."

The boys let go when he pried them off. Paul reached up for him, though, and Brian couldn't resist.

"Does your mouth hurt?" he asked.

Paul nodded against his shoulder. Brian patted his back.

Jane was grabbing her own coat and looking out the window.

"You can take an umbrella with you," Brian said.

She turned around and smiled. "I'll be fine."

"It's dreadful out there," he said. "I insist."

"Thank you," she said.

She grabbed one of the umbrellas from the stand. Brian walked to the door and waited in the threshold while she walked into the cold rain, to her car. Ritchie and John peaked past Brian's legs to wave goodbye. When the car pulled away, they ran back to the warmth of the living room.

Brian followed them at his own pace. He continued to pat and rub Paul's back, trying to give a little comfort, until his teething ring fell to the floor.

"Oh no," Brian said, looking down at it.

John ran to pick it up. Brian held back a grimace at all the germs and drool now covering John's hand. He reached down for it.

There was a small gag, and before Brian could turn his head to look at Paul, he felt wet warmth soak through his suit.

He closed his eyes and didn't breathe. John voiced his disgust and ran away.

Were two year olds supposed to spit up? It wasn't exactly vomit. Maybe the teething just upset his stomach.

"Eww…" Ritchie said.

Paul sniffled.

Brian opened his eyes again. Paul was leaning back in his arms and looking at him, eyes filled with tears.

"It's alright. We'll get cleaned up," Brian said. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," Paul mumbled.

Brian sighed.

"Good."

Paul wrapped his arms around Brian's neck. Brian held him a little tighter.

* * *

"It's perfectly normal, Mr. Epstein," Dr. Samwise said.

Brian clutched the phone in his hand, fingers fidgeting on the plastic. He watched the boys draw at the dining table.

"Are these the last teeth?" Dr. Samwise asked.

"Yes."

"You're a lucky chap. Sometimes teething with upset the little ones' stomachs with all the drool and pain. Paul seems especially sensitive, doesn't he?"

"He's a sensitive child."

"Perhaps he'll grow out of it. Children are peculiar at this age."

"Right," Brian said. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that. "Well, thank you."

"You're very welcome. Call if there's more problems - if there's a fever or actual vomit. Anything like that."

"I will. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Mr. Epstein."

Brian sat the phone in the cradle and ran a hand through his damp hair. After a short debacle of cleaning up the mess, he decided he and Paul could do with an early bath. It had relaxed Brian a little, and a new box of cigarettes and hour with the boys took care of the rest of his tension. They now all sat reunited, happily scribbling different colors on paper.

"What have you got here?" Brian asked, walking behind the boys.

Ritchie pointed proudly at his work. There were four small stick figures of varying heights and a larger one lined up together with a background of a single blue stripe as a sky and a smiling sun. Flowers dotted the grass - a green stripe all the yellow-skinned, blue-haired figures stood on.

"It's us," Ritchie said.

Brian beamed. "That's marvelous. Absolutely wonderful."

"It's not done yet," Ritchie said and went back to work adding more detail.

John held up his paper. He had utilized every color in the box and even tried mixing some. The outcome was some monster with jagged teeth and wild hair. Brian laughed.

"And what's this?" he asked.

"An imaginary man."

"Oooh… I see. Does he have a name?"

John thought for a bit, putting the paper back down. "Clepton."

Brian nodded, holding back a burst of laughter. "That's truly wonderful, John."

Paul and George worked on a piece together. They scribbled furiously across the paper, creating a sort of Picasso. Brian didn't want to disturb their concentration and merely ran his fingers through their hair.

He walked to the window, staring out into the dark street. The asphalt was wet and covered with a light dusting of snow. Brian could see flakes, once rain, falling past the glow of the street lights every time they passed through the illumination.

It was beautiful.

He looked back to the boys.

They were beautiful.


	14. December, 1955 (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas if you celebrate! If you don't celebrate, you'll probably identify with Brian a lot in this chapter about how Western society has a Christian-normative view on holidays. Also, I am American so if the under-celebration of Hanukkah (and other high holidays) by the masses isn't really a thing in England, I'm sorry. I'm just assuming that in a predominantly Christian country in the 1950s, this would be a problem.
> 
> Anyways, happy holidays and a happy New Year!

December, 1955

"But why is Jesus a baby? Why do you make Jesus a baby?"

"Because Christmas is the day Jesus was born."

"But he didn't stay a baby, Mal!"

"It's part of the story, Brian!"

"What story?"

" _Every_ story!"

Brian sighed in frustration. Lily shook her head at the two men as she walked into the living room. She handed Brian a cup of coffee and smiled.

"You'll pick up on it," she said. "All you'll really need is a tree and some presents."

"Why a tree?" Brian asked.

"No one knows," Mal said.

"We'll help you out," Lily said. "We'll help you and the boys find a tree and decorate."

"I'll have to bake, won't I?"

"Of course! The boys have to set out cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve."

"But you'll have to be the one who eats them," Mal said.

"I feel bad about this Santa ordeal," Brian said.

"Don't." Mal rolled his eyes. "They won't be ruined for it."

Brian sighed. "Should I be taking notes?"

"No," Lily said. "How about we go out right now and look for presents? That's one thing you can get out of the way."

"I don't know what -"

Lily raised her finger, silencing Brian. "I'm going to get my coat, and we'll leave in five minutes."

"Alright, I suppose."

Lily walked out of the room before he finished his sentence.

"You can't over think this," Mal said. "You buy them toys you think they'll love. You know them well by now. Christmas gifts are no different than regular gifts."

"Then what makes Christmas special?"

"It's the season, Brian. The boys are going to love Christmas regardless as long as they know it's a special day."

Brian nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Mal rose and began walking to the hat stand.

"I have one more question."

"Yeah?"

"When exactly _is_ Christmas?"

* * *

Brian woke to giggling - which would normally be the best thing to wake up to, if it was not six o'clock in the morning.

"Boys?" he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

Suddenly, there was jumping. He bolted up when he felt two bodies clamber on his bed, one to cuddle and one to bounce.

"It's Christmas! Santa was here!" Ritchie said, curling up to his side.

They had been through the confusion of when Christmas was for weeks. When the boys began to see decorations, they immediately began to ask, everyday, if Christmas was tomorrow. Finally, Brian could say yes and wake up to the smiling faces of the boys.

He groaned. It was just so early.

"Let's sleep for a little bit longer," he said, grabbing the small, chubby bodies and laying them back down.

"But it's Christmas!" John said, squirming.

"Are Paul and George awake?"

"Yeah," Ritchie said.

_At least they can't get out,_ Brian thought, followed by, _I'm a terrible foster father._

Brian knew that if he would lay still for a few more minutes, he would be sound asleep again.

"B'yan," John whispered. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yes."

Ritchie giggled. "Then how are you talking?"

Brian just hummed.

"C'mon," John whined. "It's Christmas."

"Alright. Let's get George and Paul, and we can go downstairs."

Ritchie and John cheered in triumph.

* * *

George and Paul were curled around each other, wrapping paper and toys scattered around them. They slept peacefully, filled with sweets and milk, clothed in their favorite pajamas.

Ritchie and John made a small commotion with their new toys. Their ecstatic squeals and laughter somehow didn't disturb the sleeping boys or the adults around the kitchen table.

"Are they old enough to drink eggnog?" Mal asked.

Lily nodded. "Paul and George aren't, but Ritchie and John should be."

"What's in it?" Brian asked.

"Eggs," Mal said.

"I gathered."

"It's raw eggs," Lily explained. "It's fine."

"Why does anyone drink that?"

Lily laughed and stood to get the boys.

"It's not bad," Mal said.

He, too, rose, but walked to the fridge. He poured a glass of eggnog and set in front of Brian.

"Are you expecting me to drink this?"

"Yes."

Brian inspected it. He sloshed it around in the glass, unhappy by the thickness and brown dots floating in it.

"What does it taste like?" he asked.

"It tastes like eggnog."

Brian wasn't amused.

Lily walked back in the room with both boys on both sides of her. She helped them into their chairs and ruffled their hair.

Brian let the thick, off-white, liquid touch his lips, then the tip of his tongue. When he realized there was no imminent danger, he filled his mouth.

Ritchie and John laughed at his face. He frowned heavily and had to force himself to swallow, though he wasn't sure how it was supposed to go down.

"I can fix this," Mal said. "I know where you keep the key to the liquor cabinet."

Lily shook her head and placed two small glasses of eggnog in front of the boys. They smiled and immediately began drinking it.

"Do you like it?" Brian asked.

They nodded and only set down their glasses when Lily came with plates of cookies.

Brian smiled and reached out for Ritchie's hair. He stroked the sandy locks, noting how long it was, and pushing it behind his ear.

Mal poured a generous amount of cognac into Brian's glass.

"Thank you," Brian said.

"I've never met an adult who actually likes it virgin."

Brian rolled his eyes.

"And you hardly like anything virgin period," Mal added.

"Can't you two do this after the boys go to bed?" Lily asked.

Ritchie and John looked at the two men with curious-bright eyes.

"That's hours from now," Mal said.

Brian wiped crumbs from Ritchie's mouth.

"Are you boys having a nice Christmas?" he asked.

They nodded. Their little mouths were too full of toddler-designed Christmas trees and Santa hats to talk.

"You must have been very good this year," Lily said. "Santa gave you everything you wanted, didn't he?"

"Yeah!" John tried saying.

"John, don't talk with your mouth full," Brian said.

He nodded and took another bite of a hat.

Brian continued playing with Ritchie's hair.

"Why didn't Santa get you anything?" Ritchie asked.

"Because I don't need any presents. You boys are all I want," Brian said. "And I actually don't celebrate Christmas. This is my first Christmas."

"What?" John asked, scandalized.

"Why?" Ritchie asked.

"I have a different religion and culture than you boys. My people don't have Christmas. We do other things usually."

Ritchie accepted it. John looked skeptical. They most likely didn't understand what had just been explained to them or what religion and culture was.

"I enjoy Christmas, though," he said. "And I enjoy spending it with you boys."

"I enjoy it, too," Ritchie said.

"Me, too," John said.

Brian smiled. "How about we wake up George and Paul, and we can watch telly before dinner."

They climbed down from their chairs and walked to the sitting room in the rushed fashion they always traveled.

Brian could see them from the kitchen. They kneeled next to the slumbering boys and gently nudged them. Paul sat up, rubbing his eyes and red cheeks. George scooted over to John for a wake up cuddle - something he almost always requested after naps. John gladly allowed him to do so and returned the gesture.

"They are so precious," Lily said. "I know I say that all the time, but they are the most precious children I've seen."

"I know," Brian said. "I wish I had something to do with it."

"You've done plenty."

They admired the boys for a moment more.

"Remember when you asked me what made Christmas special?" Mal asked.

"Don't say anything sloshy," Brian warned.

Mal smirked. He didn't have to say anything else.


	15. February, 1956

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George got sick every birthday. He always had some problem with his throat starting the day before his birthday. Every. Year. So, this is less of a birthday chapter and more of a pre-birthday chapter.
> 
> It's also just a lame chapter solely for the purpose of acknowledging a birthday.
> 
> Ages: Ringo - 4 years, 7 months; John - 4 years, 4 months;
> 
> Paul - 2 years, 8 months; George - 2 years

February, 1956

Brian handed George a bite of a crumpet, which was immediately shoved into the mouth of the toddler. He kicked his legs, barely hanging off the lap of Brian, in glee.

"I don't see a reason why we can't make this work," Brian said.

The group of businessmen were focused on George, happily eating his snack. Brian paid no mind and continued scribbling notes with the hand that was not wrapped around George's torso.

"I agree," Harry Epstein said, smiling at his son. "But either way, we should call this meeting to an end. An hour is long enough."

There were nods and mutters of agreements.

"We can make a final decision next week," Brian said. "I will notify you all when we will meet again."

All the businessmen in their stiff suits and creaseless collars rose. Brian and Harry were the only ones who stayed seated, feeding George another bite of crumpet.

The men filed out of the room and left the three generations by themselves.

"Stubborn as mules," Brian said.

Harry shook his head. "Keep in mind you were the youngest in the meeting."

Brian bounced George on his knee. "I beg to differ."

"Did you bring the baby along to make sure of that?"

"Perhaps." Brian stroked George's cheek. "Or maybe he has a talent for negotiating."

"I doubt it. He doesn't speak a word."

"He speaks… sometimes. He's just shy."

"Brian, you've strayed. What I'm trying to say is you're young and relatively new to this."

"I know what I'm doing, father."

"But _they_ don't think so. That's all I need you to know."

Brian nodded. He grabbed a napkin and brushed the crumbs from George's lips. George tried pushing the offensive cloth away but only managed in having his own hand held. Brian stroked the tiny knuckles.

Harry stood. "I'll be back in a moment."

"We'll be here," Brian said.

George waved goodbye when Harry walked out of the room. Brian bounced the toddler on his knee.

"You're getting big," he mused. "You weren't this big last month."

George was getting taller and losing a little baby weight. His fair hair was thickening. He could run and play with a little more grace. His vocabulary was expanding, though he chose few occurrences to exhibit it.

When Harry walked back into the room, he was carrying a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper and a white bow.

"George, look!" Brian said.

Harry laid the box in front of George.

"It's an early birthday gift," he said.

"Let's open it," Brian said to George. "Let's see what you got."

He helped George tug the ribbon loose and rip the paper. A plain cardboard box was revealed. Brian grabbed his pen and used its nib to cut open the tape that sealed the box.

"Look!"

He pulled out a bright, multicolored xylophone. George smiled and leaned forward.

"What do we say?" Brian asked, trying to direct his attention to Harry before he reached for the instrument. "Say 'thank you'."

"Fank you," George replied.

"See, he talks," Brian said.

George began striking the metal bars with his hand. Brian grabbed the plastic mallet and handed it to him.

"Like this," Brian said.

He wrapped his hand around George's and struck the bars again. George was pleased with the high chiming. He began hitting them with more vigor. The sounds were more shrill and louder.

"Thanks," Brian mumbled.

Harry laughed. "Maybe he'll learn a thing or two about music."

"I have all the faith in the world that he'll be the next Mozart."

George hit the highest bar repeatedly.

"Alright," Brian said, holding George's hand still. "Let's take this home, so you can play with it there. We're going home now, alright?"

George wasn't happy about having to put the mallet down. Harry helped him pack it back into the box.

"Tomorrow you're going to have two kids in their terrible twos," Harry said.

Brian shook his head.

"Paul at least is starting to outgrow his tantrums. He had only one last week."

Harry laughed. "He can't be that bad."

"You only see him on his good days. You don't know what's it like when he's cranky and doesn't want to share."

"That's most children. I hate to break it to you, son."

Brian sighed. He held his hand out to George, who wiggled down from his chair.

"Happy birthday, little one," Harry said, kneeling down to his level.

"Fank you," George said, quietly.

Harry laughed. "He's sweet. You're doing a good job with them."

Brian nodded in thanks.

"If you ever need anything from your mother and I, all you have to do is ask. We'd be more than happy to help."

"Thank you."

Harry rose. He grabbed his papers and, before leaving, squeezed Brian's shoulder.

"I'll see you next week, son. Keep making me proud."

"I'll try."

* * *

When George woke from his nap later that day, he was fussy and clingy.

"What's wrong?" Brian asked.

He held him close and rubbed his back.

"Hurts," George said, hand at his throat.

"Oh no."

He couldn't imagine what made George sick so suddenly.

He carried George downstairs with the other boys. Logic dictated that he wait and see if the problem went away on its own. Perhaps George slept with his mouth open, and it was just dry. Or maybe it was a little bug that would go away by the next morning. His foster fatherly instincts, however, told him that he needed to watch George carefully for the rest of the evening.

In the end, his foster fatherly instincts were the best route. George wanted nothing to do with dinner or toys. He alternated between cuddles from his brothers and cuddles from Brian. John even "read" to him; George laid against his shoulder and looked at the pages of the book as John made the story up.

Brian pushed his work aside that night and watched them all. He could hardly ever devote an entire night to them entirely, and it felt nice. He was able to take his time reading to them and bathing them. They also enjoyed it. They liked the extra attention - especially in the bath, where they splashed Brian relentlessly.

Bedtime was easier. They were more willing to lie down after the extra love that night. George clung to him, but was too tired to physically protest. Instead, he whined and cried a little when he was laid down.

"None of that," Brian said. "It'll be alright. There's no need to cry. Go to sleep, and in the morning, you'll feel better."

And Brian was true to his word.


End file.
